The Ghost of Manson Inn
by Mallie1227
Summary: An accident with the RV leaves Jazz and her father stranded at a haunted inn. While Jack is thrilled and eager to start the ghost hunt, Jazz is skeptical. But a series of strange events and messages just might change her mind. Now, she and her new friend Sam must follow the clues to discover what happened to Dan Masters. And maybe help him finally be able to rest in peace.
1. Chapter 1

Jack Fenton furrowed his brow in concentration as he stared at the map unfolded before him on the steering wheel. He scratched his head in confusion and held the map closer to his face.

"Hmm," he mumbled to himself, "I don't understand it. It should be right here. Maybe I took a wrong turn at the station..."

If Jazz wasn't so busy gripping onto her seat for dear life as the RV raced down the road at nearly a hundred and twenty miles an hour, she would have rolled her eyes. They had taken a wrong turn at their own street right when this trip began. They had been lost for hours long before her father had finally realized it and pulled out that map. Hopefully it wouldn't take as long for him to realize he was holding it upside-down. And hopefully it wouldn't take long for him to realize he was no longer holding the steering wheel and that they were now swerving uncontrollably. Sadly, he didn't appear to notice any of those things and continued studying the map, completely oblivious that the RV was no longer on the road and was now heading for the woods.

"Let's see," he continued mumbling, "If we head back a couple miles and make a left in that fork in the road-"

A swell plan. Too bad they weren't on the road anymore. The RV raced deeper into the woods. They were now surrounded by tall, thick trees with squirrels and chipmunks racing up the trunks, chattering angrily as the RV sped past. Birds all tweeted in alarm when they noticed the vehicle heading straight towards them and quickly flew away before they got hit. The trees had blocked out most of the sun, making everything around them dark. How her father never noticed the sudden change of light, Jazz would never know.

"And if we make a U-turn at that broken traffic light that's got that wonky green light..."

Jazz winced as the RV ran over a pile of dead branches lying on the ground. She bounced up and down in her seat as the RV went over the branches, creating a very bumpy ride in the process. Jack also bounced in his seat, but still didn't seem to notice anything was amiss.

"Then we would have to go through that town- That town-? What's its name again? You know, that town that's got those great pancakes!"

The RV sped through a large mud puddle, splattering mud all over the windows and the windshield. Jazz finally jumped out of her seat and went for the dashboard. She turned the windshield wipers on, but all that did was smear mud all over. Leaning over to the driver's seat and into her father's lap, Jazz took the steering wheel and attempted to steer using what little she could see out the windshield.

"And then we should be able to reach the highway after we've passed that old abandoned farm that reminds me of that weird old guy across our street for some reason..."

Jazz sharply swerved right, narrowly missing a giant red oak tree. She didn't exactly congratulate herself just yet on avoiding a crash. There were still plenty of other trees around.

"Maybe if we get through that town that looks like a shoe in record time, we might be able to stop at that ice cream parlor down the road and have a sundae!"

Through what little she could see out the windshield, Jazz was able to see sunlight streaming in again. The darkness was now gone and she could no longer hear the branches scratching at the RV or any panicking wildlife. They were finally out of the woods! Now if only her father would just get his foot off the gas pedal.

"Don't you worry, Jazzy-pants! We'll get to Lake Casper in no time! That old ghost doesn't stand a chance against Jack Fenton!"

Jazz squinted as she noticed something coming closer. Something pink. And big. Really big. Were those bricks? Uh-oh.

"Dad!" she screamed, "The brakes! Hit the brakes!"

Jack finally looked up from the map. Upon realizing that he could see nothing out the windshield, he promptly stomped on the brakes. Apparently, he had been too late. The two flinched as the RV crashed into something hard. Whatever they hit, they must have broke it since the RV kept going a few more feet before finally coming to a stop. They sat there in stunned silence for a moment while the sound of shouts and hurried steps headed towards them.

"ACK!" they heard a man shout, "My inn! What happened to my inn?!"

Jazz covered her face with her hands and sank back as far down as possible into her seat . Meanwhile, Jack looked back down at the map looking incredibly annoyed.

"Great," he muttered, "Looks like we won't be stopping for that sundae."

She let out a soft groan as her cheeks became redder. Jack apparently mistook the groan for disappointment instead of embarrassment and patted her shoulder.

"I know, I know. I was looking forward to that sundae, too."

"What's going on here?!" the man outside continued to shout, "What have you done to my inn?!"

"Calm down, Jeremy!" an old woman said from outside, "Will you let the poor thing get out of the RV first?"

Jack opened the door as the old woman continued to calm the Jeremy person down, or at least tried to. The crash had dented and battered the door so badly, it refused to budge at first. Jack had to practically throw his entire weight into it. The door fell off its hinges and clattered to the floor. He got out, leaving Jazz inside. Good. Hopefully, he'd leave her here for a while. That way, she'd have more time to think of an escape plan before those people outside realized she was with him. Maybe she'd be able to find a way back home before her dad could wrangle her into whatever hare brained ghost hunt he was on this time. Honestly, the man was in his forties and he _still_ believes in ghosts? Didn't most people grow out of that phase when they got to their teens? Apparently not if he keeps getting hired to track down these imaginary ghosts. Jazz really couldn't tell who was dumber, her dad or his clients.

"Jazzy-pants?" Jazz looked up to see her dad cast a scowl behind him, "Looks like we won't be going to Lake Casper for a while."

"Aw," Jazz replied in mock disappointment, "Well, darn! That's a shame! Guess we should head back home then, huh?"

"Yeah, that's the other problem."

"What?" startled, she quickly snapped out of her pretend sadness and stared at him, "Problem? What problem?"

"The RV doesn't look like it'll be able to go anywhere for a while."

"What! But how do you know? You haven't even started it!"

"Dearie," the old woman called out to her, "Have you seen the front of your RV? It won't be starting anytime soon."

"What!"

Jazz dashed out the door, leaving it hanging only by a hinge, and ran to the front. The old woman was right. The front of the RV was completely smashed and crumpled like an accordion. The fender, the hood, the engine. Everything.

"Nevermind the RV!" a blonde man in a blue sweater vest stomped over to Jack "What about my inn?!"

As an old woman in a motorized scooter hushed him again, Jazz looked around and noticed she was in a peach-colored room with wooden furniture surrounding her. To her right was a wooden desk with various cubby holes behind it holding various pieces of mail and keys. To her left was an ordinary wooden door painted white that was obviously the entrance to the lobby. And behind her was her dad's RV wedged through the wall, sticking halfway in. If only there was enough room in that new hole in the wall for Jazz to squeeze through and take off running before anybody could figure out she was related to the driver of said stuck RV.

The argument between the blonde man and the old woman finally stopped. By the triumphant smile on her face, Jazz guessed the old woman won. The man harrumphed and crossed his arms, glaring at Jack.

"Nevermind Jeremy, dearies. He can be rather fussy. Why don't you follow me and I'll see if we can get a tow truck here."

The old woman led the way and they headed down the hall leaving Jeremy behind. Jack looked at his watch rather irritably.

"How long will it take for them to get here?" he asked, "My daughter and I are on a very tight schedule and need to get down to Lake Casper right away for urgent ghost business!"

Jazz let out an exasperated groan. Great. Not only did the old woman know Jazz was related to the driver responsible for crashing into her wall, but also that she was involved, albeit unwillingly, in stupid ghost nonsense. The old lady probably thought Jazz was an idiot like her father. But to Jazz's surprise, instead of laughing or rolling her eyes, the old lady seemed rather interested.

"Ghost business, you say?" she asked, "What sort of ghost business, dearie?"

"Well," Jack beamed and puffed up his chest as he put his hand on Jazz's shoulder, "Jazz and I here are ghost hunters, ma'am!"

Jazz cringed as her father said, "We." She prayed for the floor to swallow her whole as her father continued.

"We hunt down ghosts and send them back into their twisted dimension where they belong!"

Again with the "we" stuff.

"Really now?" the old woman asked.

"Yep! And sometimes we even keep a few specimens to use in our experiments!"

Please stop saying, "we."

"Well, then, dearie," the old woman chuckled, "Our ghost here had better watch out."

"Ghosts?" Jack's eyes instantly lit up, "You have ghosts here?"

"Oh, yes, dearie. The Manson Inn's been haunted for some time now. Strange things happen when you least expect it!"

"Strange things?" Jazz asked, skeptically. She couldn't really tell if the old lady was serious or playing some sort of joke.

"Very strange, dearie. Not a day goes by where I don't see our ghost walking about these very halls. Looks lost, poor thing."

"Don't be fooled, ma'am!" Jack said, "That's exactly what the ghost wants you to think! But that stupid ghost won't fool me! No ghost fools Jack Fenton! Don't you worry, ma'am! Your ghost problem shall be no more!"

"That's very kind of you, dearie. But I really don't-"

"There's not a moment to lose!" Jack shouted as he ran in the opposite direction back to the RV, "You stay there with our client, Jazzy, and make sure that ghost doesn't get to her! I need to go grab our gadgets!"

And with that, he disappeared, leaving Jazz and the old woman standing there and staring at him as he disappeared back to the lobby. Jazz sighed as she watched him go, praying that the tow truck would come soon.


	2. Chapter 2

"Hmm. That doesn't look too good, does it, dearie?"

Jazz followed the old woman's gaze to the office's window and was surprised to see the sun had disappeared and snow was falling heavily outside. Strange. The weather was perfectly fine forty minutes ago. It was freezing, sure. But not snowing. And certainly not this much. If it kept going like this, everything would be completely white in another hour or so. That tow truck had better hurry up. As if she was reading Jazz's mind, the woman shook her head.

"I'm not too sure that tow truck will be coming anytime soon, dearie. You and your father may be here for a few days. Oh well. We don't have any other guests staying with us at the moment."

Stay here? Oh good god, please no. After literally barging in unexpectedly, the last thing she wanted to do was stay here. Not only did she not want to be constantly reminded of that accident every time she stepped into the lobby, she didn't want to encourage her dad's hunting this so-called Manson Inn ghost. He had already embarassed her enough today.

"Really, Mrs. Manson," Jazz said, "That's really kind of you to offer, but I don't think Dad and I will be staying here for long."

"Oh, nonsense, dearie," she waved dismissively at her, "It's quite obvious that tow truck's probably not coming. You'll be staying here."

"I'm sure we can find a motel somewhere. We've caused too much trouble already."

"Why on earth would you go looking for a motel when you're already at an inn?"

"We destroyed your wall."

"So? Walls can be rebuilt."

"Your son doesn't seem to like us very much. We really shouldn't bother him anymore than we have."

"Oh, phooey. Jeremy may own this place, dearie, but _I_ make the rules. Besides, dearie, I'm his mother. I overrule him until I die. And if I say you'll stay, then you'll stay."

Before Jazz could make another objection, Jeremy's voice shouted out from the hall.

"What do you think you're doing, you bumbling oaf? Get away from the reception desk!"

"Oh dear," Mrs. Manson sighed as she wheeled herself out, "I'd better go calm him down. Jeremy!"

She kept shouting as she left the office, most of it Jazz couldn't hear. Then again, she wasn't really paying that much attention to begin with. She was glaring out to the snow, which by now had gone from just a heavy snowfall to a raging blizzard complete with sleet and roaring wind. Well this was just great. Now that tow truck will never come. The old lady was right. They were stuck here. And it was all her dad's fault. He wasn't content with humiliating her with his stupid ghost obsession. No, he had to go and create new ways to keep her humiliated. Well, he succeded. Being forced to stay at the same inn you destroyed would be sure to keep her mortified for the next few weeks. Hell, probably her entire life. She want to think that there was nothing else he could do that could possibly be any more embarassing than right now, but knew that she'd probably jinx herself, ensuring that her dad's bumbling would make another scene. God, she was just about ready to die right now.

Jazz sighed and got up from her chair. Might as well find out what room she'd be in so she could go and hide herself under the covers as quickly as possible until they could go. When she got back to the lobby, her dad was behind the reception desk waving around one of his gadgets over the cubby. Meanwhile, Mrs. Manson was still arguing with her son.

"Mother!" Jeremy shouted, "You can't be serious! He destroyed our inn!"

He accusingly pointed at the RV still stuck in the wall, but his mother was having none of it.

"Now you listen to me, young man! I won't hear of those poor dearies going out into the cold!"

"Poor dearies?! Mother, our lobby-!"

"It's a wall, Jeremy! We can build a new wall!"

As they continued fighting, Jack finally noticed her and shoved another gadget into her hand.

"There you are, Jazzy," he said as he went back to his work, "Great news! We're staying here for a few days!"

"Um," she protested, looking anxiously at Mrs. Manson and Jeremy, "I don't think-"

"That you'd be lucky enough to be able to hunt the Manson Inn ghost?" he interrupted, "Neither did I! It's not the Lake Casper ghost, but a ghost is a ghost and we need to catch it! Which is why I need you to take that Fenton Finder and scan the area for ghost activity."

"Actually, I was just wondering what my room number was-"

"So you can scan it for ghosts? Good thinking! We'll be able to cover more ground if we split up. I'll keep searching the lobby. You go search our rooms."

"Well, Jeremy?" Mrs. Manson demanded, "Are you just going to stand here, or are you going to give our guests their room key?"

Grumbling under his breath, Jeremy stomped behind the reception desk, shoved Jack out of the way, and slammed down two room keys.

"Go upstairs and you'll be in room twenty-four. Your father's in twenty-five."

Jazz grabbed her key and ran up the stairs.

"That's the Fenton way!" Jack praised, "Always eager for a ghost hunt!"

Oh, she was eager all right. Eager to just disappear. But since that was impossible, the closest she could do was hide in her room until they could leave. She went down the corridor and stopped at a white door with the number "24" painted on top. She used the key to open the door and walked in.

Her room was a little small, but nice. The walls were painted olive green with cinnamon-colored curtains and a wooden floor. A kale green, square rug had been rolled out on the floor and on top of the rug was a wooden, twin sized bed with leaves carved in the headboard. The comforter was the same color as the curtains and the pillows were just a shade lighter. A wooden nightstand with a single golden lamp was at the bed's right. On its left was a larger window. In front of the bed was a small dresser with a ten inch TV on top. And it wasn't a recent model of TV either. It still had the bunny ear antennas. Jazz found the remote next to the TV and tried to turn it on. Nothing. She clicked again. Still nothing. Maybe it needed new batteries. She found the power button on the TV itself and pressed it. The only thing that was on the screen was her reflection. Great. TV didn't work. Good thing she brought along a few books on this trip. Problem was they were still in the RV. And she didn't feel like going back down and running into her dad. He'd probably just give her some other asinine task that was supposed to capture this nonexistant ghost.

"Ghost spotted!" Jazz jumped as the forgotten Fenton Finder shook in her hand, "Ghost spotted! A ghost has been spotted in this area!"

"Oh, shut up," Jazz muttered.

She turned the device off and tossed it onto the bed. She rolled her eyes and headed for the bathroom door located right next to the dresser. After washing up, she turned off the lights and crawled under the covers. Might as well sleep since there was nothing else to do. Twenty minutes later, Jazz was snoring.

A loud _THUMP!_ made her open her eyes. She laid still and listened for another minute before she heard it again. _THUMP!_ Slowly lifting her head, Jazz craned her neck for better hearing. _THUMP THUMP!_ What in the world-? She pulled the covers off and quietly went to the door. She opened it just a crack and peeked out into the dark hall. She didn't see anything. Maybe it was Jeremy just locking everything up? Or maybe it was her dad getting ready for bed? _THUMP THUMP THUMP!_

"Jeremy?" she called out.

He didn't reply.

"Mrs. Manson?"

Still no answer.

"Dad?"

Nothing. Jazz pushed the door open wider and stepped out into the hall as the thumping continued.

"Hello? Anyone here?"

 _THUMP! THUMP THUMP THUMP!_

Slowly, Jazz went down the hall, looking around for the source of the noise as she continued to call out everyone's names.

"Dad? Jeremy? Mrs. Manson? Hello? Anyone? Everything alright?"

The further she went down the hall, the louder the thumping was. She had to be close. Finally, she came across the last door marked "29." The door was ajar and all the lights were turned on.

"Hello?"

She cautiously stepped in and stared at the the bashed and dented walls with the furniture tossed around carelessly all around the room. _THUMP THUMP!_ She noticed that the bathroom door was wide open and carefully peeked inside. She held her breath and stared in alarm at the large figure hunched over in the shower with the curtain drawn. _THUMP THUMP THUMP!_ It was coming from there!

"H-Hello?"

At the sound of her voice, the figure suddenly shot up and drew back the curtains.

"AAAHHHH!"

"AAAHHHH!"

They both screamed for another three seconds before realizing what was going on.

"DAD?!"

"Jazz!" Jack sighed in relief, "Don't scare me like that!"

"Dad!" Jazz continued, angrily as she stomped in the bathroom, "What the hell are you doing?! It's the middle of the night!"

"My Fenton Finder here picked up a ghost in this room! So, I'm searching every little thing in this room with this! The Fenton Anti-Creep Stick!"

"Seriously?!" she replied as he proudly held up the Anti-Creep Stick, "You couldn't find anything quieter than a baseball bat?!"

"Well, I was going to use the Ghost Weasel, but I forgot it in the cargo hold of the RV. And since that part's buried in snow..."

Jazz growled in exasperation and headed back to her room. She slammed the door and went back to bed. A few hours after she had fallen back asleep, she was woken up by the sound of footsteps. Groaning, she rolled to her side and covered her head with the pillow. Her dad was STILL at it? Come on! He was going to be in trouble tomorrow for practically destroying that room. Did he really want more?

The footsteps continued and Jazz tried her best to ignore them. Finally throwing the covers away from her, she got out of bed and marched back to room twenty-nine. The door was closed this time and when she tried the handle, it was locked. She pressed her ear against the door, but didn't hear anything. She could hear the footsteps, but not in this room. At least her dad finally quit trashing it. Now which room was he trashing now? She marched up and down the hallway, trying each and every door except her own only to find them all locked. She considered going downstairs to search for him, but decided to give up. She was too tired to deal with this right now. He would just have to get yelled at in the morning.

She went back to her room and was about to close the door when she thought she saw something pass from the corner of her eye. She turned to where she thought she had seen movement, but nothing was there. Everything was still. Even the footsteps had stopped. Jazz shook her head. Ugh. She was even more tired than she thought. She closed the door and turned towards the bed. As she climbed in, she thought she saw a something glittering right in front of the dresser. Curious, she went over to it and bent down. A clear glass bottle lying on its side had caught what little light there was of the moon shining through the window. The bottle had a rolled up yellowed piece of paper in it. Jazz shook the paper out, took it to the nightstand, turned on the lamp, and read the message.

 _Meet me in our secret place. I have a surprise for you. Dan_

Dan? Who was Dan? Did he work here? What secret place? And what sort of surprise did he have for her? Then again, this message does look very old. It's all yellow and musty. Probably written years and years ago and was meant for someone else. Whatever. It was too late in the night to figure it out now. Jazz yawned as she turned off the lamp and went back to bed. Perhaps it was her overtired mind playing tricks, but just moments before she drifted off, Jazz thought she had seen a shadow pass over her.


	3. Chapter 3

"ACK! What happened here?! How did this-?! Fenton!"

The sound of Jeremy's shouting woke Jazz up with a start. She lifted her head up for a moment before remembering her father's bumping around about last night. Realizing the probable cause Jeremy's anger, she fell back into her pillow with a groan. She laid there listening to the incoherent shouting match going on out in the hall as she imagined herself on a deserted island. No stupid ghost hunts, no embarassing dad, no mess to clean up. Just her and pure bliss. Lost castaways have it so lucky.

"Rise and shine, Jazzy!"

Jack slammed the door open and walked right in while Jeremy kept shouting outside.

"Hey!" he demanded, "Get back here! I'm not-!"

But Jack slammed the door shut and went over to the bed. He pulled the covers off of Jazz.

"Great news!" he said.

"The tow truck's coming soon?" Jazz sat up and asked, hopefully.

"Nope! Even better! My Fenton Finder kept going off all night! Which means the ghost has been walking about all around this house last night. We're bound to find him soon. Did your Finder pick him up?" he picked up the Finder from the bed and after a quick inspection, looked down at Jazz in annoyance, "Hey! What'd you turn it off for? You know, if you want to be a great ghost hunter like your old man here, you need to pay more attention to your surroundings. And you can't do that if your Finder's off. Here."

He turned it back on and it instantly went off again.

"Ghost spotted! Ghost spotted! A ghost has been spotted in this area!"

"Eureka!" he shouted, "He's here! See, Jazzy? This is why you need to keep this on! Now, stand aside! I'll get this ghost! You just stay here and take notes! Alright, ghost! Show yourself! I know you're here! You don't fool Jack Fenton!"

He shoved the Finder into Jazz's hands and took out a device that looked like a vacuum cleaner.

"I couldn't get the Ghost Weasel, so the Fenton Xtractor will have to do for now. Alright, ghost! Here comes Jack Fenton!"

He turned on the machine and waved it menacingly around the room, running from one spot to the next as he continued to call for the ghost. To Jazz's horror, her dad shoved the nozzle of the Xtractor into the furniture and banged it up and down and all about, battering both the furniture and the walls just like he did in room twenty-nine.

"Dad! Stop! What are you doing?!" she shouted.

"Not now, Jazz! I'm on the verge of weakening him! I can feel it! Surrender, ghost-scum!"

"Hey!"

The door rattled as Jeremy tried to open it. Unfortunately for him, Jack had somehow managed to shove the nightstand in front of it, preventing it from being opened all the way. Jeremy had managed to push the door just enough for him to see the chaos inside.

"What the-?!" he shouted, "What are you doing, you idiot?! Stop that right now! There's no stupid ghost! Mother!"

He threw his entire weight onto the door, making the nightstand move a few inches.

"Dad stop!" Jazz pleaded as Jeremy continued shoving the door open and calling for his mother, "You're going to get us into trouble!"

But Jack ignored her. He ran up to the window and waved the Xtractor around the curtains, sucking them in.

"I know you're in there somewhere ghost! I'll find you!" he shouted.

"You moron!" Jeremy finally got the door open and ran over to Jack. He grabbed the hose of the Xtractor and tried to wrestle it away, "There's no such thing as ghosts! Mother!"

As the two fought over the hose, which was still in the process of sucking up the curtains, Jazz eyed the open door and thought now would be a great time to leave. She jumped out of bed and ran out the room. She continued running down the stairs and didn't stop until she was in the kitchen. Out of breath, she stopped and leaned over the counter while she panted. Great. This was just great. As if things weren't humiliating enough already. Why can't she just go one day without her dad finding some new way to embarass her? Why did he always have to make an idiot of himself? Why can't he just be a normal dad with a normal job? What's wrong with being an accountant? Or a salesman? Or anything that's got nothing to do with ghosts? Anything but ghosts!

Jazz stood there thinking about her father's poor life choices for about a minute until a soft _clink_ made her look up. She stood still and listened for about ten seconds when she heard another _clink._ Strange. Where was that coming from?

"Mrs. Manson?" she called out.

 _Clink._

"Hello?"

The clinking continued, more frequently this time. Curious, she walked around the kitchen trying to determine the source. She could still hear the shouting going on upstairs, so she knew it wasn't coming from her father. She called out to Mrs. Manson again as she searched for the clinking noise, which was by now was sounding constantly. She came across a door right behind a wooden chair seated at the head of a short kitchen table. The clinking grew louder when she opened the door. She peered down the set of stairs in front of her and called out again.

"Mrs. Manson?"

She heard someone muttering amongst all the noise. She went down the stairs and called out to Mrs. Manson again. Either Jazz wasn't being heard, or she was being ignored. She came to the bottom step and into the dusty and cobweb infested basement. She was surrounded by shelves full of grimy boxes and bottles full of equally grimy stuff. There was a woman with dark hair just slightly past her shoulders in a floor-length black dress standing in front of Jazz. She had her back turned to her and was busy rummaging amongst the cans and jars on a shelf, muttering to herself.

"Ghost spotted!" the Finder went off in Jazz's hands, "Ghost-!"

Jazz shut it off as the young woman turned and faced her. Her violet colored eyes stared back at her in confusion as Jazz sheepishly smiled.

"Sorry," she apologized.

"Oh, no, no," the woman smiled, "I'm the one who should apologize. I didn't realize we had new guests here. My name is Sam. I'm the owner's daughter."

She held out her hand and Jazz shook it, "Pleased to meet you. I'm Jazz."

"Welcome, Jazz. Are you settled in? Do you need anything?"

A loud crash from above made both girls look up in alarm.

"I know you're here somewhere ghost!" Jack shouted, "You can't hide forever!"

"I don't know him," Jazz quickly said with her cheeks blushing.

"Oh," Sam replied, still staring up the steps, "Is he another guest?"

"Yeah, I guess. I don't really know him. At all. Nope. Not one bit. Do you need any help with something? It looks like you're having some trouble there. Here. Let me help you with that!"

Jazz rushed over to the shelf before Sam could protest and started looking around amongst the contents.

"No, really," Sam tried to gently push her away, "I'm fine. Really. I'm just looking for those canned cherries. I could've sworn there were here."

"I don't see any- WHOA!"

Jazz stood on her tiptoes for a closer look and felt her foot step on something round. It rolled away and she soon found herself falling over backwards. She grimaced as she landed flat on her back. Sam quickly took her hand and helped her back up.

"Are you alright?" she asked.

"Yeah," she moaned as she rubbed her sore back, "What did I trip on?"

Sam bent down and picked up a rusty, dusty old can with its label almost worn away.

"Oh my god," she said, "I am so sorry! I probably threw it on the ground while I was looking for the cherries. I am so sorry!"

"That's o- Hey, wait. There's something inside it."

Sam looked down puzzled and noticed the can was missing its lid. And that something was indeed inside. She pulled out a yellowed note and a small silver key. She looked at the objects in confusion as Jazz took the note from her and read it aloud.

 _Remember where we first met? I hid something for you underneath the piano. You'll need the key. Let our game begin. Dan_

"Another note?" Jazz wondered out loud as she stared at the key, "Huh. I'm guessing this is the surprise he was talking about."

"You know this Dan person?" Sam asked, "Is he another guest? Is this your key?"

"What? No. It's a long story. Last night I-"

"Jazz? Jazzy-pants?" Jack called out, "Where'd you go? You find the ghost, yet?"

"He knows your name?" Sam asked while Jazz groaned in dispair, "I thought you said you didn't know him."

"I don't!" she insisted, "I don't! We just met!"

"Jazzy?" her father called.

"I'd better go. Good luck with those cherries!"

Jazz ran up the steps as her father continued calling. Halfway up, she remembered she had turned off the Finder. Not wanting another lecture, she quickly turned it back on.

"Ghost spotted! Ghost spotted!"

"Ghost!" Jack suddenly ran down the stairs, dragging the Xtractor behind him, "Get away from my daughter, you filthy spook!"

"Dad! Stop!"

"Dad?" she heard Sam say at the bottom, "I thought you said you never met this man before. And why's he screaming about ghosts?"

Before Jazz could answer, her father ran into her, sending them both tumbling down the steps. Sam quickly moved out of the way and pressed herself against a shelf. Once they landed at the bottom, Jack quickly got up to his feet and menacingly waved the hose of his device.

"Where is it!" he demanded, "Where's the ghost? Which way did he go? Are you alright, Jazzy?"

"Dad!" Jazz shouted, angrily and stood up, "Stop! There's no stupid ghost around here!"

But he ignored her and ran around the basement, bashing the Xtractor about. Sam's wide eyes stared at him in bewilderment while he continued challenging the ghost that was supposedly in the basement.

"You don't fool me!" he shouted.

Jazz ran up the stairs with her face all red. When she got back to the kitchen, she ran out until she was back in the lobby. Noticing that the RV was still stuck in the wall, she leaned her back against the reception desk and buried her face in her hands. Meanwhile, Jeremy had come back down the stairs and was currently behind the desk with a furious expression on his face while he talked into the phone against his ear.

"What do you mean you're not sending anyone out?" he demanded, "It's only a little snow! What do you mean you can't go out in three feet of snow! Do you have any idea what's stuck in my lobby right now? An RV! There is an RV in my lobby! And it's idiot driver is ruining my inn! Yes I'm serious! No we don't have a garage in the lobby! What sort of stupid question is that! He drove through the wall! Yes I'm serious! Stop laughing! This isn't funny!"

Jazz heard enough. She ducked so that Jeremy wouldn't be able to see her and as quietly as possible, ran up the stairs and back into her room. She slammed the door shut and groaned again when she saw all the battered walls and furniture. The nightstand was toppled over onto its side and sported numerous dents and scratches. The dresser had been moved over to the opposite side of the room and had similar injuries. The TV was lying on the ground with a broken screen and an antenna broken off. The curtains had been torn clean off, though amazingly, the window was fine. The bed had been moved and the covers were now on the floor, but otherwise looked alright.

Wonderful. Just wonderful. This day couldn't possibly get any better. Jazz sighed as she sat on the bed. She stared at the ground for a moment or so until the Finder went off again.

"Ghost spotted! Gh-!"

She shut it off and angrily tossed it to the floor. She glared at it. Stupid Fenton Finder. No, stupid Dad. He was wasting his time. He was never going to find the ghost because ghosts didn't exist! When is he going to wake up and realize this?

A movement caught Jazz's attention. She turned and noticed a shadow cross over the fallen nightstand. She walked over to it and looked around for the cause of the shadow, but couldn't find anything. That was weird. Maybe it was the movement of the light outside? She looked out, but saw that the sky was still gray. The sun wasn't out. Strange. Jazz soon felt a presence behind her and turned. No one was there. Then why did she still feel it? And why did she feel like she was being watched? This was really weird.

Jazz shook her head. She was being stupid. All of this stupid ghost nonsense was starting to get to her. If she didn't watch it, she'd be bumbling around and shouting out into thin air like her father. She needed to get a grip. Still... She looked to the spot where she had thought somebody was watching her. She still couldn't shake off the feeling that somebody was there. She unwittingly shivered as a chill went up her spine.


	4. Chapter 4

Sam managed to slip past the large man shouting out to ghost as he while brandishing some strange device. She ran up the stairs and slammed the basement door. Considering that this man was a guest, slamming the door on him was a bit rude, but Sam really didn't feel like dealing with him right now. She was already in a bit of a foul mood. Her mother wasn't going to be pleased with her for failing to find those stupid cherries and was sure to give her another lecture about responsibility. And just where were those cherries anyway? She distinctively remembered her mother and herself sitting at the table and canning those cherries just last month. And they haven't used them since then. So, where'd they go? Maybe a guest stole it or something.

Deciding to just get the lecture over with, Sam made a deep sigh and walked towards the reception desk where her mother was working.

"Hey," she called as she approached the desk, "I can't find those cherries. Where'd you- Huh?"

She stopped as she reached the desk. Mother wasn't there, but someone else was. That's not what caught her attention, though. What caught her attention was the busted wall with some sort of strange vehicle wedged halfway into the lobby. She stared at the strange sight until a slam from the desk made her look up. She watched the person's back was facing her and he was stomping away from the desk while muttering angrily to himself. Exactly what, Sam wasn't able to tell. He left the lobby leaving Sam alone. She wondered to herself what that was all about and was about to go search for Mother, but stopped herself. She was still holding the note and key that she and Jazz had found. There was something about that note. Something that kept nagging at her in the back of her mind. What exactly that something was, she didn't know. But she felt like she ought to.

Sam shook her head a little. She was losing her mind. Whatever that nagging feeling was trying to tell her, it probably wasn't important. One of the guests probably left this note as a prank. Either that or he was flirting with one of the maids. She should probably get rid of it before Mother discovered it. If she did and suspected the staff was flirting with a guest, she'd call another staff meeting and lecture everybody about how they were all acting "most SHAMEFULLY!" and how she had never seen a "more EMBARSSING display!" Sam reread the note, trying to ignore that constant nagging. Dan. Who was Dan? If he's another guest, it would probably be a good idea to let him know he shouldn't be writing secret love notes to the staff.

Sam went behind the reception desk and looked at the open log book. Jack Fenton and Jazz Fenton. No Dan. Wait a second, whose handwriting is this? Not Mother's. Wait, this isn't even Mother's log book. Where'd it go? She opened a large drawer on the desk and was surprised to see a pile of used log books inside. The first two-thirds of the pile of books were all written in handwriting she didn't recognize. She wondered who had been writing in these books and how in the world was it possible that there were so many all completely filled up. Finally, she found Mother's books. She picked up the top book and scanned the pages. She stopped at the very last page and read the final name.

 _Daniel Masters November 14, 1873 Room 24._

She stared at the name. Daniel Masters. Again that nagging feeling came back and refused to leave Sam alone. Daniel Masters. She didn't know who this man was, but she couldn't help but think that she ought to. Maybe he introduced himself to her when he checked in. That must be it. That must be why she kept thinking she knew this person. But even as Sam tried to convince herself, she knew it wasn't true. Again, she shook her head, trying to dispel the annoying nagging in her head. She'd better go tell this Daniel Masters to back off on the notes. The book said he's in room twenty-four, right?

Giving one last odd look at the stuck vehicle before climbing up the stairs to the second floor. She stopped at room twenty-four and knocked. She prepared herself for a confrontation but was extremely surprised to see not Daniel Masters answer the door, but somebody else.

"Jazz?" she asked in disbelief.

"Yeah?" she replied, waiting expectantly for the reason of Sam's visit.

"What are you doing here?"

"This is my room," she arched an eyebrow at her for asking such a silly question.

"But, the log book said this was Daniel Masters' room."

"Daniel Masters? Who's Daniel Masters? Wait, is he the guy writing these notes?"

"I think so," she glanced at the note before suddenly turning her head back to Jazz, "Wait a minute, notes? As in more than one? There's more?"

Jazz raan back to her room for a second and handed Sam another scrap of paper.

"I found it in my room last night," she explained as Sam read it, "That's what I was trying to tell you before my dad interrupted."

Sam noticed that Jazz was no longer denying that she knew the strange man in the basement screaming about ghosts, but didn't press the issue. Jazz took the note they had found in that can and reread it.

"So, what was under the piano?" she asked.

"I don't know," Sam shrugged, "I didn't look."

"Want to look now?"

"What?"

"Do you want to come with me and see what he hid under the piano?"

"You're actually going to go look? You know, the note might not really mean anything. He's probably just playing some sort of joke or something."

"Eh," Jazz shrugged, "I'm still going to look. There's nothing else to do and I am losing my mind from boredom. There's too much snow out there to play in, the TV's broken, and my books are in the cargo hold of the RV which is buried in snow so, I can't go get them."

Before Sam could protest, Jazz took her hand and pulled her down the hall.

"Come on," Jazz continued, "Where's the piano?"

Might as well look. If kept the guest happy, that what harm could it do to play along? Besides, if this Dan person is playing a joke, she'd better make sure he didn't damage anything in the process. They went into the parlor downstairs where the piano was kept. Mother bought it so that the guests could listen to music as they relaxed in the couches and leather chairs furnishing the room. She also had specifically instructed that it be placed in the back corner of the room. She wanted the musician to be as invisible as possible so that the guests didn't have to suffer the horror of being in the presence of a servant. A completely unreasonable idea since most of their guests _had_ their servants with them. But then again, Mother wasn't exactly known for being reasonable.

They reached the piano and got on all fours. They crawled underneath the piano and poked at floorboards.

"I think I found something," Jazz said.

She pressed her hand down on the board and the girls watched as it sank slightly. She took her hand back and removed the loose board. Hidden inside was a small wooden box with a tiny silver lock. Sam looked down at the tiny key still in her hand and curiously put it in the lock. It fit and she was able to open the box.

"Another note?" she said to herself.

Indeed there was another note folded up neatly in the box. Sam unfolded it and read it aloud.

 _Spell Father's name in the panel in his room and you might be rewarded. Dan_

"Now all we need to figure out the name of Dan's father and find his room," Jazz said, "That's going to be difficult, though."

"You're not actually thinking about following this note, are you?" Sam asked, giving her an odd look.

"Of course I am. I'm told you, I'm bored and there's nothing better to do. Besides, a treasure hunt sounds fun. Much more fun than what Dad's doing."

As if on cue, Jack came barreling in the parlor. He was no longer carrying the device from before and instead had a new strange contraption in his hand.

"Now," he muttered to himself, "Where did that ghost go?"

"Dad," Jazz sighed, "What are you doing now?"

"Jazz?" he turned and saw her underneath the piano, "Hard at worklooking for that ghost, I see. Atta girl! That's the Fenton way! You just keep looking and don't mind me. I'm just passing through."

"What are you doing with that thing?" she demanded, pointing at his new device.

"That Jeremy guy took away my Xtractor. Said it was being destructive, whatever that means. So, I'm just going to have to use this Fenton Foamer instead to get that ghost!"

"Ghost?" Sam asked, "What ghost?"

But before Jazz could answer, the Finder in her father's pocket went off.

"Ghost spotted! Ghost spotted!"

"Eureka!" he shouted, "He's here! The ghost is here!"

"Dad! No!"

But she was already too late. Jack fired the Foamer and green slime instantly splattered all over the piano. Sam and Jazz raced back up to their feet and ran as he covered the room in goo.

"Show yourself, ecto-freak!" he shouted, "I know you're here!"

Jazz screamed as a bit of goo landed next to her foot. Jack mistook the scream for fear of the ghost.

"Don't you worry, Jazzy!" he shouted, still shooting slime everywhere, "I'll get that ghost! He won't hurt you! Go back to your own evil dimension, ghost-scum!"

"You nitwit!" somebody shouted, "What are you doing now?! Stop this nonsense this instant!"

Sam could hear an argument going on in the parlor, but by that time, she and Jazz had already left. They stopped at the kitchen to catch their breath. Jazz looked down at her shoe and wrinkled her nose in disgust at the stain the slime had left when it landed near her. When Sam finally stopped panting, she glanced at Jazz with a puzzled expression.

"You want to tell me why he keeps trying to catch a ghost in here?"

"No, not really," Jazz answered, "But I guess I don't have much of a choice. Mrs. Manson told Dad that there's a ghost in here and now he's trying to hunt it."

Sam looked confused. Why on earth would Mother say that there's a ghost in the inn? She had always told Sam ghosts were just fairytales. Sam didn't necessarily believe that herself, but Mother certainly did. Which just goes back to the question of why she'd say ghosts were at the inn. Unless she was being sarcastic to Jack and he thought she was actually being serious. That was probably it.

"So," Jazz said, snapping Sam out of her thougts, "Any ideas about finding out the name of Dan's father?"

"Huh? Oh. Not really. No."

"Oh," Jazz looked disappointed, "Oh well. I'll figure it out. Maybe I could go ask Mrs. Manson."

"I don't know if that's a good idea."

Because if Jazz went to Mother, then Sam would have to explain all these notes Dan was leaving and rebuke everybody for their "despicalble, simply DESPICABLE behaviour!" And Sam really didn't want to hear it. But either Jazz didn't hear her or she ignored her and went sprinting off somewhere down the hall. Sam didn't follow. Instead, she went off to her room. She carelessly tossed the note on her dresser and flopped onto the bed. The day had barely begun and already she was ready to go to sleep. First the disappearing cherries, then the crazy ghost hunter, and soon she'd have an angry mother too. Next would probably be something broken because of this Dan person.

Again, her mind began buzzing. Daniel Masters. Dan. Why did she feel like she knew that name. It couldn't be just a simple introduction. There was something more to it. But what? Ugh! This was going to drive her crazy! Who is Dan? Sam replayed the name over and over again in her mind as her eyelids began to droop. Dan. Daniel Masters. Dan Masters.

Two minutes later, she was fast asleep. In her dream, it was completely dark. She felt someone's arms wrapped around her and hugging her tight close to him. It was a definitely a him. She didn't know how she knew this. But she knew with one hundred percent certainty that this was definitely a man. He held her tight against him and Sam nestled up against him, not feeling the least bit afraid. She gladly accepted his warm embrace. As she enjoyed the bliss she felt against him, his hand began stroking her hair. Again, she was not afraid. Sam smiled as she slept on the bed with her hair being lovingly caressed.


	5. Chapter 5

Mrs. Manson looked at Jazz quizzically and watched the girl scan book after book from the inn's little library. It wasn't really a library, it was a bookcase in the parlor that was filled up with books that guests had accidentally left behind after checking out. Thanks to Jack's recent attempt to catch the ghost, parlor was now completely slimed, including the books Jazz was reading, and the furniture had been shoved about. Thankfully, nothing was broken. Jack and Jeremy had left the parlor and were now in another part of the inn, probably arguing again about the Manson Inn ghost, judging from all the shouting. Mrs. Manson could hear her son calling for her repeatedly, but didn't feel like breaking up yet another fight. So, she stayed with Jazz, wondering why the girl looked so frustrated with each book she put back in the bookcase.

"What exactly was it you were looking for again, dearie," she finally asked.

"I'm trying to see if I can find something about Daniel Masters," she replied, taking out another book.

"Who?"

"But," she said, speaking to herself, "It doesn't look like he's in any of these books. If I had a computer, I could just use Google, but I left my laptop at home! I'm never going to find him at this rate."

"Why do you need to find him? Are you writing some sort of school assignment on him or something?"

"Are you sure you don't have any other books around here?" Jazz asked, ignoring Mrs. Manson's question, "Or a computer?"

"We have a computer, dearie, but that blizzard out there disabled the wi-fi. I don't think we'll be having any internet here for a while. Why is it so important you find this Daniel Masters person anyway?"

"Great," she sighed, slamming the book in her hand shut, "Looks like I won't be finding his next note."

"Next note? What note? Dearie, you're not really making much sense here. Are you feeling alright?"

"Mother!" Jeremy came stomping into the parlor with a furious look on his face, "Mother, do you have any idea what that idiot's doing now?!"

"I thought he was hunting our ghost."

"Our ghost?! What ghost?! Ghosts don't- Oh, nevermind! The point is he's now blasting that disgusting slime all over my own room!"

"It's just slime, Jeremy. Don't be so dramatic over a little slime. You can just wash it right off. Your room could use a good cleaning anyway."

"He shouldn't be in my room! He shouldn't even be in the staff's sleeping hall in the first place!"

"I'll get him out," Jazz sighed, exasperatedly.

She stomped down into the staff hall and groaned when she heard her father's shouting from one of the rooms. She went over to the room and stood in the doorway, staring in despair as she watched him run around and cover everything in goop.

"I'll get you, ecto-freak!" Jack shouted, firing off a blob of goo onto the ceiling, "You can't escape Jack Fenton!"

"Dad," Jazz groaned, "Will you please just stop? You're making Jeremy angry."

"That's not Jeremy, Jazzy," he replied, sending another shot of slime at the curtains, "That's the ghost's evil influencing the inn and Jeremy's mood is changed because of it! Trust me, when I finally get this ghost, Jeremy will be thanking me!"

"He'd probably thank you right now if you stopped destroying everything."

"Destroying everything?" he turned around and fired again at the wall, "Is that what Jeremy told you? It's even worse than I thought!"

"Yeah! It is worse! Do you have any idea how much trouble-!"

"Not only is that ghost influencing Jeremy's moods, he must be influencing his logical reasoning, too!"

"Huh?" she stared blankly at him, "What? But that doesn't make-"

"Of course! It makes so much more sense now! A normal reaction to a ghost hunter's hunt would be tears of relief that the ghost will finally be gone . That's only logical."

"No it's not! It's-!"

"But his reaction to me is anger and accusing me of destruction. He's not in his right mind! The ghost has taken over!"

"No! Dad! That's not-!"

"Of course! How could I have missed that! Oh, you're very clever, ghost-scum! Very clever! But not clever enough for Jack Fenton!"

Before Jazz could stop him, Jack ran out of the room and into the parlor where Jeremy and his mother were still arguing. Jeremy only had enough time to look up before he was promptly tackled by Jack.

"OOF! You moron!" Jeremy shouted, "What do you think you're doing?!"

"Never fear!" Jack aimed the Foamer at him, "That ghost will be out of you in no time! You hear that, ghost!"

"What the hell are you talking about, you nitwit?! Get off me!"

"Dad! Stop! Get off him!"

Jazz had followed him to the parlor and reached for his arm. But she was already too late. Jack had fired the Foamer into Jeremy's eyes.

"My eyes! Mother! Help me!"

But Mrs. Manson had found the entire thing quite amusing and was currently chuckling to herself. She had figured the Foamer wasn't dangerous and Jeremy was perfectly fine and saw no reason to end this rather extraordinary scene in front of her so soon. For the next minute or so, Jeremy was shouting at Jack while Jack shot goo at Jeremy. Meanwhile, Jazz was shouting at Jack and trying to pull him off Jeremy. Really, is it any wonder why Mrs. Manson found this entertaining? At long last, Jeremy was finally able to wriggle himself free from Jack and fled up the stairs with Jack in pursuit.

"Don't you worry!" Jack shouted as Jeremy hurled insults at him, "That ghost won't be able to control you for long!"

Jazz was about to chase after her father, but then decided not to bother. He wouldn't listen to her. She'd just be wasting her time. Mrs. Manson sighed in disappointment that her fun was now over.

"Oh, well," she shrugged to herself, starting to wheel herself out, "Might as well start cleaning up that goop off Jeremy's things now so they'll be clean by tonight."

"Here," Jazz started to follow her, "This is our fault. I'll help."

"Oh, no no, dearie. You're fine."

"No, I insist."

"And I insist you stay here. The rooms in the staff hall are the staff's responsibility and the staff cleans them up. Not the guests."

Jazz was going to help anyway since she felt so guilty about the mess, even though it was her father that made it in the first place. It was the least she could do. It was the least her dad could do as well, but she knew he wouldn't. He'd just blame the entire thing on the stupid ghost.

Jazz was halfway to the staff hall when she heard a _THUD!_ come from the parlor. Thinking that her dad had once again destroyed something, she furiously marched back only to find he wasn't there. She looked around in confusion for a moment until she noticed a blue leather-bound book on the floor right in front of the bookcase. Whoops. It must have fallen out. She smiled in relief that the sound wasn't from her father for once and bent over to pick it up. But before she could touch it, the book suddenly popped open and the pages began flipping. Jazz gasped and stared in astonishment, not really sure of what to do. The pages stopped flipping. She hesitated and stared at the book for about thirty seconds, still not sure what she ought to do.

"It was the wind," she muttered to herself, "The wind did that. Yeah. Yeah, that makes sense. The wind opened the book."

Finally, she picked up the open book and looked curiously at where the pages had stopped. On one page was a black-and-white photograph of a tall, slender man with a goatee and his hair in a ponytail. On the other page was the name _Vlad Masters. Mayor of Amity Park._ She was about to read the entry about Vlad Masters when she heard Mrs. Manson whistling to herself in another room. Dammit! Mrs. Manson! She had forgotten about helping Mrs. Manson! She dog-eared the page and closed the book before tucking it under her arm and racing into Jeremy's room. She found the old lady stripping off the slime-covered comforter and bed-sheets from the bed and tossing them into a plastic laundry basket.

"Here," Jazz bent down to take the basket, "Why don't I-"

"You'll do nothing except relax, dearie. I've handled worse messes than this."

"Really," Jazz arched one of her eyebrows, skeptical of Mrs. Manson's claim, "I highly doubt any of your previous guests shot Jeremy in the face with a slime gun."

"Well, no. I have to admit, that's never happened before. But trust me, dearie, your father's messes are nothing compared to what I've seen over the years. Now, perhaps you'd be interested in heading back to the parlor and see if you can find a book you like."

She suddenly reached out and grabbed Jazz's arm and held her with a tight grip. To Jazz's surprise, the little old lady in the motorized scooter was actually very strong and was able to lead Jazz out of Jeremy's room with ease. As she entered the staff hall, Jazz noticed for the first time a brick wall right at the very end of the hallway. Actually, it was what appeared to be an entrance into another room sealed off with bricks. She broke away from Mrs. Manson's grip and walked towards it until it was just a few inches from her face. She examined it more closely for a crack or hole to peep through, but found nothing. Whoever sealed off this entrance wanted to make damn sure people stayed out.

"The original owner built that," Mrs. Manson said, startling Jazz, "The one that had this place built."

"Why's this room sealed off? What's in it?"

"I'm afraid I don't know," she shrugged, "The only thing I know about it is the original owner had that wall put in in 1873. That's it. Everything else is a big mystery"

Jazz stood back and looked at the sealed entrance in awe, curiosity, and confusion. What's behind all those bricks? What's the original owner hiding in there? Was it something bad? Did it have to do with Daniel Masters?

She didn't have much time to mull over these questions because Mrs. Manson had taken a hold of Jazz's wrist and resumed pulling her into the parlor.

"There you are, dearie," she stopped at the bookcase and let go, "Now you relax and find something to read. Pay no mind to me. I'll just be cleaning."

"But-"

She was already gone before Jazz could finish. As she watched the back of the old lady and her scooter disappear, drooped her head a little, feeling guilty. Even though she wasn't the one who ought to be feeling guilty. But lord knows the true responsible party would never feel it. Maybe she was feeling guilty for not being able to control him? Yes, he was an adult and was SUPPOSEDLY able to control himself. Too bad he couldn't. And too bad Jazz was so completely powerless to stop him. So, why does she even try?

Jazz sighedas she sat down one one of the leather seat. She glanced down at the book she was holding in her hands, having forgotten she still had it. Quickly, she snapped out of her little pity party and opened the book to the dog-eared mark. Maybe her mood would lighten up a bit after a little reading. Hopefully, this book would have the answers she was looking for. She read the little chapter and learned that the former mayor had one son. His name was Daniel. Daniel Masters.


	6. Chapter 6

Sam finally felt herself relax when she finally sat herself down at the piano and started playing. Most people let the sheet music dictate to them how they should play. Their fingers always pounded on the same exact keys over and over again. Always carefully following the rules of the sheet music. Then it was on to the next piece and the next piece and the next piece. On and on just mindlessly obeying the will of the sheet music. Always afraid to stumble on its strict structure. They were absolute slaves to the sheet music.

Not Sam. Sam didn't like sheet music. She'll admit, it is handy if you're a beginner that was learning how to play, or if you were just playing the song for the first time. But to just strictly follow the sheet music without inserting yourself into the song was certainly not appealing to her. She always felt like she was being controlled when playing sheet music. She was already being controlled by her mother, she didn't need a stupid song to do it too. When she plays, she wants to be free. That's why when she sits at the piano, she never has any sheet music in front of her. Instead, she lets her fingers to do whatever they please and allows them to dance upon the keys wherever they feel is right.

And this is what she was doing on this particular day. As her fingers did what they liked, Sam could feel all of the tension built up inside just slowly melt away, leaving her at ease for the first time all day. The fact that her mother wasn't scolding her for some minor infraction or that there weren't any guests calling for certainly helped. That's not to say there weren't any guests here. There were. In fact one of them was sitting on the couch, watching her play. She turned her head slightly to get a better look at him. He was tall with broad shoulders and was wearing a black waistcoat. He had his long, black hair tied into a ponytail. His head was cocked to one side and was watching her closely with his sky blue eyes as he listened to her play. Sam didn't know why, but this man looked rather familiar. But she had never met this man before, so why did she think she did?

She noticed he had a piece of paper in front of him and was writing down something. When he caught her watching, he gave her a small smile. Sam felt her cheeks grow hot as a smile of her own spread across her face. The man put down what he had been writing and got up from his seat. He walked towards her while Sam kept playing, watching him the entire time with her smile growing wider. When he got to the piano, Sam made room for him on the bench and he sat down. He began to play. Sam watched his fingers freely flow through the keys, making their own music, but at the same time, harmoniously mixing along beautifully with Sam's music. They both smiled while they sat side by side in pure bliss as their fingers danced along the keys together.

Sam opened her eyes and was startled for a moment when she found herself in her room instead of in front of the piano. Then she remembered. She came here and flopped onto the bed. She was thinking about that Dan person and his notes when she felt someone hugging her and holding her tight against him. She was warm and safe cuddled up against him. The world couldn't touch her so long as he held her. Then she was sitting at the piano, alone at first. Then that man had joined her and again she had felt warm whenever his fingers brushed against hers. It was only now that she realized they were just dreams. Of course they were. Nothing that blissful could ever possibly happen to her. At least she could dream.

Sam then started wondering how long she had been gone. Shad had intending to rest only for about ten minutes or so. She looked at the clock. Ten minutes had long since past and it was now two hours later. Great. Mother was probably furiously searching for her. Though if she were, why didn't she just check Sam's room? Practically every mother checks their child's room first when searching for them. Maybe Mother was so busy, she didn't know Sam had disappeared for a while. But that just brought the question back to why Mother wasn't looking for her. When Mother gets busy, she usually hollered for Sam to help out, even though she usually already was, and then scolded her for "ignoring your responsibilities! Honestly, Samantha!" Whatever. Mother not piling on Sam's workload or berating her about something was a rare occurrence. But they do happen and Sam wasn't about to waste them questioning Mother's reasoning.

Figuring she had been gone for long enough, Sam reluctantly got off her bed with a groan and started looking for Mother. She looked in her room, but didn't see her. Maybe she was in the kitchen. She headed for that direction, coming up to the parlor on the way. She stopped and peeked into the doorway while gazing at the piano with a small smile. As she stared at the bench, she let her mind imagine herself sitting at the bench with the man in her dream right beside. They were smiling, but silent as they played the song they had created together. At the end of the song, he wrapped his arms around her and held her close to him, stroking her hair affectionately as if he were an old friend. He is an old friend. She's her old friend. But that couldn't possibly be since Sam had no idea who this man was. He looked incredibly familiar, yes, but that didn't mean she knew him. Yet, she did know him. Something deep inside her kept shouting this to her. She does know him! He is her old friend! But who is he?

"Sam?"

She turned and found Jazz with a book tucked under her arm looking at her quizzically.

"You okay?" Jazz continued.

"Yeah," Sam nodded, "Sam. I was just thinking. That's all."

"About what?"

"Things," Sam shrugged, "Not really important. Did you need something?"

Jazz knew that Sam was just trying to change the subject and quickly followed suit. Curious as she was, Jazz knew not to push it when others made it clear they didn't want to talk. If Sam wanted to share what was bothering her, she would. Now just wasn't the right time. Jazz opened the book in her arms to a dog-eared page and showed it to Sam.

"Vlad Masters!" she said, triumphantly while jabbing her finger at the photograph.

"Okaaaay," Sam answered, arching up her eyebrow in confusion, "What about him?"

"He's Daniel Masters' father! See," she turned the page and pointed at a particular passage, "It says right here he had a son named Daniel Masters! Assuming that Dan is Daniel Masters, Vlad is Dan's father."

Sam studied the passage for a second. Daniel Masters. Dan. Again that name rang through her head like an alarm bell. She knows him! She knows Dan! Then who the hell is he?

"Now that we know who Dan's father is," Jazz continued, "We need to find his room. That's going to be tricky, though. I mean Vlad lived in the 1800s. How are we going to find his room almost a hundred and fifty years later?"

"What?" Sam blinked in surprise, "What do you mean almost a hundred and fifty years later?"

"Yeah, the book says that he temporarily lived at the inn for a while back in the 1870s due to some important business he had to attend to as mayor."

"Okay, but I don't see how that's a hundred and fifty years."

"My math may be off a bit, but does it really matter? It's been at least a century since he died, let alone lived here."

What in the world was Jazz talking about? Her math was waaaaaay off. Where was she getting this over a century bit from? Was she alright? Did she hit her head in that crash with the bizarre looking vehicle? Or was being stuck inside all day because of the blizzard driving her insane? Jazz didn't notice Sam's extremely puzzled expressions and kept on talking, mainly to herself.

"Maybe there's another book somewhere. There's got to be records around here like a log book or something."

At the mention of a log book, Sam stopped staring at Jazz and remembered the stack of books in the reception desk.

"Mother's log book!" she said, "It's at the reception desk. If this Vlad person stayed here, his name's definitely in the book along with his room number."

"Perfect!" Jazz smiled, slamming the book shut.

The girls went to the lobby. When they got there, they could hear shouting up the stairs. Jazz's father was apparently still trying to hunt the ghost in this house, whoever he was, while another man shouted furiously at him and hollered for his mother.

"Hurry up!" Jazz pleaded as Sam stepped behind the desk, "Hurry up before they come down and Dad ropes me into this mess, too!"

Sam dug through the pile of notebooks in the drawer before finally finding her mother's. She already suspected which room he had, but figured she'd better make sure. She turned to the last page of the book. Right above Dan's name, Mother had written:

 _Vlad Masters November 14, 1873 Room 30._

Just as she thought. Somebody as important as the mayor would definitely be given ro _om_ thirty.

"Come one," Sam urged, putting the book back, "Room thirty."

Jazz followed Sam up the stairs. She cast a nervous look behind her and Sam stopped to see what was the matter. There was Jack's father fighting with the blonde man in the middle of the hall.

"Stubborn ghost, aren't you?" Jack shouted, as he chased the other man with the Foamer still in his hand, "Just you wait until I catch up! Then you'll really be in trouble!"

"Mother!" he shouted, "Stop this madness!"

The girls quickly hid themselves behind the wall as they passed by. Both men ignored them and went down the stairs still shouting all the way. Sam nodded her head down the hall and they both walked on until they came across a small set of stairs hidden behind one of the doors.

"Whoa!" Jazz stared at the steps with her eyes wide, "I thought this was just a closet."

"It's supposed to," Sam replied as they climbed up, "Room thirty's reserved for real important people who want their privacy."

"Like a mayor, for example," she smiled, understanding.

"Exactly."

They reached the top of the steps and stepped into the room. Unlike all the others, this one was much bigger. It had bigger furniture, too with a writing desk added in. The other rooms didn't have a writing desk.

"Hmm," Jazz wandered around the room, scanning the walls, "Didn't that note say something about a panel?"

Yeah, it did. And Sam knew where that panel was. She went over to the dresser and climbed on top of it. She examined the wall closely until she found it. An eight inch by eight inch square inserted into the wall.

"Right here," she called for Jazz, "But there should just be a safe inside and you don't use letters to open it."

She pressed the square and watched it slide away. When she looked inside it was just as she said. There was only a metal safe inside. Although for some reason, the safe was covered in filth and rust. What the hell? It was just cleaned last month! How did it get that dirty in a single month?! Jazz climbed onto the dresser and peeked inside. Making a face, she hid her left hand inside the sleeve of her black turtleneck and used it to clean away the dust.

"Numbers," she sighed, wiping the diry sleeve on her jeans, "How are we supposed to spell Vlad's name?"

Sam was still trying to figure out how a safe could possibly get so rusty in filthy in a month, let alone spell Vlad's name using just numbers. She stared at the numbers on the lock for a bit. Let's see, they went from zero to nine and the alphabet had twenty-six letters. They only needed four of those letters, so probably only four numbers were needed. And that equaled hundreds of combinations. Ugh. This wasn't going anywhere.

"Maybe," Jazz said, "We use where in the alphabet the letter is for its number."

"What?" Sam asked, looking at her in confusion, "I know you were speaking English, but I didn't understand a word of that."

"V is the twenty-second letter in the alphabet. Try using twenty-two."

"There isn't twenty-two."

"Turn clockwise to two then counter-clockwise to two."

Sam was skeptical that this would work, but did as she was told. As Jazz continued to instruct her, Sam spelled out the rest of his name. 2-2-1-2-1-4. To her surprise, she heard a click. It worked! It actually worked! She turned the latch and attempted to open the door, but it was rusted shut. She pulled and pulled with all her might with Jazz grabbing her at her waist and pulling along. At long last, she finally felt some movement, but before she could celebrate, the latch broke off and the girls went toppled backwards off the dresser.

"Ow," groaned Jazz as Sam rolled off of her, "Did we open it?"

Sam looked at the latch in her hand and hurried back up the dresser. To her relief, the door had indeed opened, though only just a crack. It was enough for Sam to slip her fingers in and open it the rest of the way. Inside was yet another note and a sheet music. She took them out as Jazz joined her back on the dresser. While Sam studied the sheet music, Jazz read aloud the note.

 _Play our song on the piano and I'll direct you to the next clue. Dan._

"Play music?" Jazz asked, "That's it? That's easy. We'll finish that task in no time, right Sam? Sam?"

Sam didn't hear her. She was too focused on the sheet music. She stared at it in disbelief when she finished reading the notes. She recognized this song. It was the exact same one she and that man had created together in her dream.


	7. Chapter 7

Jazz knew that something was bothering Sam by the way she kept staring at the sheet music. She debated with herself about whether she ought to say something like she desperately wanted to or just leave it be. Curiosity finally got the best of her.

"Sam?" she asked, "You okay?"

"Huh?" Sam responded, still staring at the music.

"I said are you okay."

"Yeah, yeah, sure" Sam muttered in reply, "I'm fine."

"You don't look fine. Why are you looking so shocked at the music? Is something wrong?"

"Huh? What?" Sam finally snapped out of her bewildered daze and noticed Jazz looking at her in both confusion and concern, "Yeah. I'm fine. Sorry. I- I could have sworn I've seen this sheet music before."

"Really? Where?"

"With- with-"

Sam suddenly grew very quiet. She stared at the music in her hand again in confusion. Then her eyes widened and she made a small gasp as if she had just remembered something. She then started muttering quietly to herself, obviously bewildered about something. Exactly what, Jazz wasn't sure. She worriedly watched Sam muttering, catching only a few words.

"Can't be... How...Doesn't make sense... Who..."

"Okay, you know what," Jazz gently took Sam's arm and started leading her out of the room, "I think you might be catching something. How about you lie down and rest for a while. I'll take you to your room."

"I'm fine," Sam yanked her arm away, "Now let's get see what Dan hid in the piano."

"Sam, I think you should really-"

"I said I'm fine!" Sam insisted, looking rather irritated at Jazz, "I was just thinking about some stuff, that's all. Now let's go."

Jazz looked at Sam skeptically, but didn't pursue the matter any further. She still didn't quite believe Sam, but figured she wouldn't get anywhere if she just outright asked what was going on. She followed Sam into the parlor, making sure to keep an eye on her just in case she started acting weird again. Sam sat down at the piano and propped up the sheet music on the music rack. She then moved over to one side of the piano bench and patted the new empty space beside her.

"Come on," she urged, "This says it needs two people to play."

"But," Jazz protested as she sat down, "I don't know how to play the piano. Or even read music for that matter."

"It's not that hard. You just need to remember a few things. Here. Let me show you."

For the next fifteen minutes, Sam gave a brief lesson about which keys were what and how to read the notes on the sheet music and decipher them until they make a song. While Jazz barely understood what was being taught to her, she did manage to learn just enough to get through the piece. She slowly started to play and pressed down upon the keyboard, hesitating quite often in search of the correct key whenever it was time to play her part. Meanwhile, Sam sat patiently as Jazz struggled with the music. She would play a few notes of her part f the song, wait for Jazz to catch up, then played a few more notes and waited for Jazz again. The two girls played like this together for twenty minutes, which was quite unusually long since the piece itself normally only takes five minutes to play.

When at long last the song was finally done, Jazz breathed a sigh of relief. Whew! That was a lot more work than she thought. How did musicians do it? She'd probably never know. Oh well. At least that task was done with. Now, onward to the next clue. The girls stared at the piano in anticipation of their reward. At first, nothing happened. Jazz began to worry that she had messed up somewhere during the song. But a moment later, they heard a soft c _lick!_ and a panel behind the music rack slid open just a crack. Sam reached behind the music rack and slid the panel door all the way open before taking out another scrap of paper and what looked like a golden knob.

"What's that?" Jazz asked as Sam pulled it out.

"Don't know," Sam shrugged and read the note out loud.

 _Turn your mother to the west at our picnic spot and I'll give you a little gift. Dan._

"Turn your mother to the west?" Jazz wondered out loud, "What the hell does that mean?"

"And where's his picnic spot?" Sam asked.

"Maybe he left some sort of hint somewhere? I mean, he can't have just said picnic spot without leaving a hint. Is there anything left in that panel?"

"No, there's nothing left in that little panel. So, how are we supposed to find his picnic spot?"

Jazz didn't have an answer for that. Normally when she didn't have any answers, she would go searching for them in books or on the internet. But somehow she doubted any book or website would have the answer to something as personal as somebody's favorite picnic spot. Or even a tiny hint as to where Dan had hidden the clue to his picnic spot. Were there even any picnic spots nearby? Jazz did just arrive last night and wasn't really able to explore the town, thanks to that blasted snowstorm. Hell, she could be in the middle of nowhere for all she knew.

"You got any picnic spots around here? Maybe we could at all of them and be able-" Jazz started.

"Let me stop you right there," Sam interrupted, "No, there aren't any picnic spots at this inn. And no, there aren't any picnic spots anywhere else around here."

"So," Jazz sighed, "We're at a dead end. Hey, wait a second! Didn't you say earlier that my room used to be Dan's?"

"I think so. At least, that's what Mother's log book said. Why?"

"Maybe Dan left something behind. Some sort of clue that could point towards his picnic spot!"

Sam looked at Jazz skeptically and asked, "I don't think so. One: how do you know he left something behind in the first place. And two: if he did leave something behind, the maids probably cleaned it up already. If it's been a while since he checked out, it's probably gone."

Jazz had to admit, Sam did have a good point. Too much time had passed between Dan's stay back in the 1870s with his father and today. If he did leave something behind, it was most likely already gone. But then again, he did leave that message in a bottle behind and no one seemed to have noticed that. Not until last night. So maybe a more thorough search of her room might uncover some other hidden treasure.

"Well," Jazz shrugged, "It's worth a try, right? I mean, what else is there to do in this blizzard? Besides listening to my dad shouting at everything and destroy stuff looking for the so-called ghost."

Sam shrugged and pocketed the note and knob as the girls stood up from the bench. They started to head out of the room when they heard a loud crash from behind. Startled, they turned around and saw that the bookcase had toppled over, spilling all of its contents onto the floor. The bookcase had been propped up against the wall looking perfectly fine just a moment ago, so the girls were rather puzzled as to how it fell over.

"Was someone here?" Jazz asked.

"I don't think so," Sam shook her head.

They stared at the bookcase, looked at each other, then looked back. Jazz suddenly felt this sense of someone watching the back of her neck. She turned around only to find no one there. Yet, she could still feel this person. He, or she, was in the room with her, watching and waiting. Jazz started to shake unwittingly while her stomach started to feel like a bottomless hole.

"Maybe," Sam said, startling Jazz out of her thoughts, "It wasn't stable."

"Huh? Oh. Right. Yeah," Jazz chuckled, nervously, "It just had a wobbly leg or something."

They both continued to stare at the bookcase, bracing themselves for the next bit of movement. Nothing happened. At long last, Sam finally got up and starting picking up the books.

"I'd better clean this up before Mother finds it," she said, a little uneasy.

Jazz soon joined in. They cleaned up the mess in silence, still a little wary of each new movement and sound. As Jazz picked up another stack of books, she felt a push from behind. Not a hard push. Simply a slight push normally reserved when one wishes to get someone's attention. No matter how slight the push was, however, it was enough to make her stumble to the floor and drop the books, scattering both them and loose pieces of paper all over. Thinking that Sam was the one responsible for her fall, Jazz shot an irritated look behind her only to discover that Sam was on the opposite side of the room. She had just finished picking up the books and was on the way out to search for someone to turn the bookcase back upright when Jazz had fallen.

"You okay?" she asked.

"Did you see what pushed me?" Jazz replied.

"Pushed? You were pushed?"

"You didn't see it?"

"See what? All I see is you and all these books."

"But-" Jazz looked behind her and stared in bewilderment at the empty space, "But I was pushed! Something-"

She stopped when she noticed Sam staring at her as if she had suddenly sprouted three heads. Jazz shook her head. Dear god, she was becoming her father and talking crazy about invisible people shoving her from behind. If she didn't watch it, she'd be right next to Dad chasing and threatening Jeremy with a Foamer. She got up and started picking up the books around her when the mayor Vlad Masters' photograph slipped out of one of the books. Jazz picked it up and discovered it was part of a clipped newspaper article. The article itself wasn't very interesting. It was something about the mayor's new tax proposal. It was really the picture she was interested in. In there, Vlad was standing in what looked like someone's flower garden and was talking to somebody off-camera, looking very serious. Meanwhile, a young man with long dark hair and a goatee was right behind him in the background looking extremely bored. Apparently, tax proposals weren't very interesting to him either.

"Hey," Sam said from behind Jazz, "That's our garden."

Jazz looked up in surprise as Sam snatched the article out of her hand and examined it closely. She watched as Sam's eyes grew wide and her face suddenly turned pale.

"That's him," she said, not noticing Jazz staring at her, "That's same man from-"

She paused and continued staring in confusion and panic while her face grew paler by the second. Jazz was quite certain Sam was about to faint and ran up to her and prepared to catch her. In an attempt to keep her awake, and wondering what in the world was going on with Sam, Jazz asked what she was talking about.

"What? You mean Vlad Masters? Yeah, you saw him from before. He was in that book, remember."

"No," Sam pointed at the young man, "Him. Dan. That's Dan. I know that's Dan!"

"That's Dan?" Jazz repeated, completely surprised, "Hey, wait. He's not mentioned in the caption underneath the photograph. How do you know that's Dan?"

"I- I-" Sam became quiet for a moment before looking at Jazz and shaking her head, "I don't know."


	8. Chapter 8

As Sam went back to her room for her winter clothes, she couldn't stop thinking about what had just happened in the parlor. No, not the tipped over bookcase, although that was rather odd. She was thinking about the incident with the photograph. The young man in the background, that was Dan. She knew it was Dan. But, how? How could she have possibly known that? They had never met before. Well, except in her dream. But even then, he never said anything to her, not even his name. So how could she possibly be so sure about who he was? Perhaps the two had been introduced when he checked in? No, that wasn't it. There was something more to it. There had to be. She just knew it! But again, how? How did she know that?

Where the hell was Dan, anyway? Mother's log book said he checked in a few months ago, but never mentioned anything about him checking out. She knew the log book was correct because as many faults as Mother has, she's incredibly meticulous when it came to keeping records. She would have made a note in the log book if Dan had checked out. So where could he possibly be? Thinking about the log book made Sam aware of another problem. Why is Jazz in Dan's room? They were both staying in room twenty-four, but that couldn't possibly be right. Dan's room obviously must be somewhere else, but who made the mistake? It certainly wasn't Mother, so it must have been one of the staff. After all, there was another log book there in somebody else's handwriting. They must have put Jazz in Dan's room by mistake. Ooh, Mother was going to be furious when she sees what happened. Sam wouldn't be surprised if someone ended up being fired. But then, where was Dan?

Maybe he decided to be polite and let Jazz keep the room while he moved somewhere else? That must be it. But even as Sam tried to convince herself of this theory, she knew deep down that it wasn't true. Something kept ringing in the back of her mind that there was something else going on. Something she knew deep down inside her, but for reasons unknown to her remained hidden. Something wasn't right here.

When she got to her, Sam put on her black velvet winter cape, her black velvet muff, and her black velvet hat lined with violets around the brim. After trading her ordinary black boots for her winter pair with the purple buttons, Sam left her room and went to find Jazz. She found her waiting in the lobby. Jazz's winter gear consisted of a puffy turqoise coat with matching puffy trousers and a scarf wrapped around the lower half of her face. She was also wearing a pair of black mittens, earmuffs and boots with a turquoise hat. Sam tried to keep herself from laughing at the human cotton ball in front of her, but wasn't very successful. Jazz immediately narrowed her eyes in irritation at her.

"Don't say a word," she said with her voice slightly muffled from the scarf.

Still unsuccessfully trying to stifle her smile, Sam led the way out the front door with an annoyed Jazz walking, or actually waddling would be more accurate, right behind her. It was still gray out with snow continuing to fall, but thankfully, not as much as earlier. The icy wind blew hard against their faces, making it difficult to breathe. Sam was forced to hide the lower half of her face inside her wrap while Jazz pressed her scarf tight across her nose and mouth. They waded their way through the three feet of snow and headed for the inn's flower garden in the back.

"Are you sure the next clue's in the garden?" Sam asked.

"Not really," Jazz replied, "But right now, it's the only thing we've got."

Sam didn't say anything, but inwardly she doubted they'd find anything important. Just because the photograph was taken at the garden, didn't mean that was Dan's picnic spot. They were basically grasping at straws at this point. The girls trekked on through the snow until they reached an iron gate. Sam undid the latch and opened the door. She let Jazz go through first before following, shutting the door behind them. The entire garden had been completely covered in snow, turning everything around them a dazzling shade of white. The only bits of color in there was the black iron frame of the benches spread all across the sidelines of the brick footpath.

Now, according to the note, they had to find a statue of someone's mother. There was only one statue here and it was Sam's mother. But there was no possible way Dan could be writing ro her. Why would he? They didnt even know each other. She didn't care how much that little voice in her mind kept nagging at her. There was no way Dan was writing to her. Sam knew Jazz just had to have made a mistake. Dan didn't picnic here and he left no clue here either. They just had to be way off course. It was the only explanation. Sam wasn't going to tell Jazz this, though. If going off on these wild goose chases left behind by some prankster was enough to keep the guest happy, Sam wasn't going to say otherwise. Besides, this little scavenger hunt kept her away from Mother for a while. Although, she had to admit, it was a little strange that Mother wasn't screaming her head off looking for Sam. Maybe she was saving her energy for later tonight.

When they found the stone statue of Sam's mother, Jazz went towards it and began to scrutinize it carefully. She studied the stone platform and read the shiny, brass plague that had the name, " _Pamela Manson._ " She then went on to examine the body with Sam watching her the whole time..

"Hmm," she grumbled, "I don't see a place for a knob Maybe it's on another statue."

"We don't have another statue," Sam answered, "This is it."

"This is it?" Jazz looked puzzled, "Huh. Well, I don't see- Wait a second! I think I found it!"

She pointed at a tiny, barely noticeable hole right underneath the plague. Sam took a closer look at it and arched one of her eyebrows. Huh. That was strange. She didn't remember that being there before.

"Think this could be it?" Jazz asked.

No, she didn't. Dan's clue referenced someone's mother. And since Sam knew those notes weren't for her, he obviously didn't mean _her_ mother. Still, she saw no harm in humoring Jazz. Sam shrugged her shoulders and took the knob out of her pocket.

"Might as well try," she said.

Even though it wouldn't work. She put the knob into the little hole. She was a little surprised to see that it fit, but really didn't think much of it. It was probably just a coincidence. She turned the knob, not really expecting anything. But when the statue moved to face the right, she soon became completely stunned.

"It works!" Jazz cheered, jumping up and down in excitement, "I was right! It works!"

While Jazz continued to celebrate, Sam stood and stared in bewilderment. What the-? Dan was talking about _her_ mother?! All those notes were for _her?!_ This couldn't be right. Sam didn't even know who this guy was! Why on earth would he be writing to her?! What the hell was going on here?!

"Sam?" Jazz looked at her quizically as Sam stood there absolutely still, "Sam? Hello! You okay?"

"Huh?" Sam blinked, snapping out of her trance, "Yeah, yeah. I'm alright."

Jazz didn't look convinced, but let it go.

"I think that's supposed to face west," she urged, pointing at the statue.

"Right. Right. West. Got it."

Sam turned the knob again, making her mother's statue frst face south. Another turn then had her facing west. When she had it correctly postioned, she heard something click. She watched the name plague suddenly lift up, revealing a hidden compartment underneath. Inside the compartment was another note. Sam took it and read it, but this time, it wasn't from Dan.

 _I know what you're doing, girl, and I highly advise you stop this foolishness immediatley. Stay away from my son._

"What's it say?" Jazz asked.

She grabbed the note before Sam could answer and frowned as she read it.

"Looks like the mayor wasn't too happy with Dan's scavenger hunt," she sighed, "Oh well. It was fun while it lasted."

"Yeah," Sam sighed, disappointed.

Jazz was right. It was a bit fun, strange as it was. This Dan person seemed to be playful and extremely creative. She had to admit, she was actually starting to like him a little even though they never met. Oh well. Guess it was time to go back to Mother.

"Come on," Jazz sighed and started to walk away, "Let's go back inside."

"Actually, you can go back in," Sam turned away from Mother's statue and started to walk in front of Jazz, "I need to go check on the horses in the barn and make sure they're okay."

Might as well. That way when Mother started screaming at her, she could at least point out she did do _some_ of her chores. Besides, the poor things were probably freezing their tails off. She wondered if Paulina had remembered to feed them this morning. Probably not, the stupid ditz. Why Mother kept her as part of the staff, Sam would never know.

"You have horses?" Jazz suddenly smiled, "Cool! Can I see?"

Sam shrugged while giving her a questioning look. She didn't see any reason as to why Jazz looked so excited. So they had horses. Big deal. Everybody has horses. It was the only way they could travel. And anyway, the horses didn't even belong to the inn, they belonged to the guests.

They waded through the snow for a while until they reached the barn. Or what remained of the barn. Sam widened her eyes in shock and let out a loud gasp. Technically, the barn was still standing, but it was all charred and covered in a mixture of snow and ash. The frame was covered in scorch marks and burns, most of the roof was missing, and the doorway only had one door on it that was hanging by a hinge.

"What-?!" Sam ran through the entrance, "What the hell happened?!"

She stood right near the doorway with her mouth agape and ran her fingers through her hair in a panic. More scorched wood and ash waited for her inside. The stalls were missing their doors and some of them were missing a wall or two. The troughs were gone, the feed and hay were missing, the horses seemed to have mysteriously vanished, hopefully unharmed. Piles of debris were scattered everywhere amongst the snow. All that remained was the scorched frame and burnt rubble.

By now, Jazz had entered the barn too and she stood next to Sam, surveying the damage with wide eyes.

"What happened?" she asked.

Sam didn't say anything. She slowly walked aimlessly about in a stunned stupor. Mother was not going to be happy about this. She'd probably find some way to put the blame on Sam like she normally does when something went wrong. She could just hear the hollering now.

"How could you be so irresponsible, Samantha! I have never, NEVER, been more aghast at your absolutely APPALING behaviour! Have you no SHAME! "

Sam continued wandering about until she came to a corner of the barn. She looked at it curiously, as that constant ringing voice in her head started up again. There was something familiar about that spot. True, she'd been there countless times before. It was her little hiding spot when she needed some quiet time to herself. It used to have a nice, small pile of hay she used to sit at with a lamp and her thoughts, and occasionally, a book. The hay was missing now, and while that did seem quite odd, that's not what was curious about it. She had a feeling there was something more to that little corner. Something not quite right. She sat down and immediately started choking.

"Sam?" Jazz asked, alarmed.

Sam didn't answer. She couldn't breathe. The air had suddenly gone from cold to smoky. She felt a red hot, burning pain sear throughout her body as she continued to gasp for air.

"Sam!"

Sam laid on her side and curled up in a fetal position. Ther burning had gone deep inside now and her vision was beginning to blur.

"Sam!"

She coughed and started to sweat as she lay there in agony. Finally, she couldn't take anymore and her body began to go limp.

"Sam!"

But Sam was already out. At first, she couldn't see anything but a pitch black darkness. Then the world suddenly grew bright and she was instantly surrounded by light. She was blinded momentarily before her eyes began to adjust. She was now in some brightly lit world with a familiar figure standing in front of her.

"Dan?!" she gasped.

He smiled and took her hand, "When are you coming back?"

"What?" Sam looked up in surprise at his smiling face, "What are you talking about?"

He looked at her sadly before holding her closer to him and began to stroke her hair. She let him and gave him a small smile. This was nice. Confusing, but nice.

"You don't remember me, do you?"

Sam remained silent and looked at him puzzled. What did he mean? The hell was going on here? Where was she? Where was Jazz? Where's the inn?

Dan took his hand away from her hair, much to Sam's disappointment, and put it in his coat pocket. He withdrew it a second later and held out a hairclip in the shape of a violet. He put it in Sam's hand and curled her fingers around it.

"Take this," he said, "And place it on the bed of your mother's room."

Sam stared at him confused. But before she could ask any questions, he took her clenched hand and gave it a kiss.

"Sam! Sam! Wake up!"

Sam gasped sharply as she opened her eyes. She was lying on the floor in the lobby with Jazz standing over her with a worried expression on her face.

"You okay?" she asked.

Sam looked around in confusion as she started to sit up.

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine."

"What happened?"

"I don't-"

She stopped and stared at her clenched fist. She could feel something inside it, poking at her flesh. She brought the fist up to her face and opened. She gave another sharp gasp. Inside her fist was the violet hairclip.


	9. Chapter 9

Jazz didn't exactly quite understand just what it was they were doing. No, scratch that. She knew what they were doing. She just didn't understand _why_ they were doing it. Or where Sam had even gotten the idea in the first place.

"Are you sure that's where the next clue is?" she asked.

"For the last time, yes. I know that's where he put it," Sam sighed in exasperation after answering the question for what seemed like the thousandth time.

"How? I didn't see another clue. All I saw was an angry note from the mayor. No clue."

"Well, no. There wasn't. But Dan,- Look, it's really hard to explain. Just trust me on this one, okay?"

Jazz really wanted to ask what in the world was going on with Sam, but knew she wasn't likely going to get a response. After Sam had woken up just a few minutes ago, she had almost immediately started talking about Dan's next clue and practically ran towards the back of the inn. Thinking that Sam was going into some sort of shock, Jazz chased after her and was barely able to catch up. She had tried to convince her to lay down and rest for a bit, but Sam was having none of it and kept babbling on about needing to put the hairclip on her mother's bed. What hairclip, Jazz didn't know, but after hearing Sam's dazed and nearly incoherent talking about the clue on the bed, or something of that nature, Jazz was now completely convinced that Sam was sick and needed to lie down. Sam being the stubborn girl that she is, refused to comply and went on ahead with her task. Jazz gave up and decided to tag along only to make sure Sam didn't faint again. She had been half-listening to Sam's reassurances that they were indeed on their way to Dan's next clue while trying to understand just what exactly was happening right now and how Sam could be so sure of what she was saying. That is where we happened to drop in.

Now, let us fast-forward a few seconds and we shall see Sam and Jazz enter the staff hall and stop at the doorway of Jeremy's room. Mrs. Manson had already stripped the bed bare and was cleaning the sheets and the comforter in the washing machine. She had managed to take down the curtains, too and mop up the floor. While the floor sparkled, however, the walls and furniture were quite a different story. They were still bruised, dented, and, regarding the furniture, tossed about all over the room with slime covering them from top to bottom. Clearly, much more work still needed to be done. Upon seeing the slime still sliding down from the scorched and dented walls, Jazz couldn't help but grimace with her cheeks turning red. Sam, on the otherhand, either didn't notice the mess or didn't care and proceeded her way towards the bed.

"He said put it on the bed," she murmured, "But I don't see a place to put it."

"What are you talking about?" Jazz asked, "Put what on the bed?"

Sam didn't answer. She looked at an object that Jazz was unable to see sitting in the palm of Sam's hand, and carefully placed it on the bare mattress. Jazz looked at the flower-shaped jewelry in surprise. She hadn't noticed it beforehand and she had been following Sam the whole time, so she knew Sam didn't just stop for a second to collect it. So, where did it come from? How did she hide it so well? And what's it got to do with Dan's next clue? How'd she even know what to do with it, anyway? Was there a clue in that statue, after all? No, there definitely wasn't. So, what's going on? Where did Sam get the clue? It was as if Dan had managed to talk to Sam with ghost telepathy or something. Jazz quickly shook her head. There she goes again with this ghost nonsense. God, she really needed to spend more time away from Dad and his stupid weird ghost experiments. Sam wasn't contacted by a ghost. Still, Jazz knew Sam did not have that flower when she fainted. And she still couldn't quite explain how Sam knew what to do with it. Again, Jazz shook her head. No, she was wrong. Sam didn't know what to do with it because there was nothing you could do with it. Placing the flower on the bed did absolutely nothing. Even Sam was starting to see it now. She was just experiencing shock or fatigue or something. She's starting to come to her senses now.

And sure enough, there was Sam staring down at the violet in confusion.

"But," she muttered, "But he said to put it on the bed. I know he did."

"Sam," Jazz sighed, exasperatedly and took her arm, "Come on. I think you should lie down. I'll go get Mrs. Manson and see if she can call a doctor or something for you."

Sam yanked back her arm and glared at Jazz, "I know what I'm talking about, alright? I know I sound completely crazy right now, but I'm now!"

"I never said you were crazy. I just said you should probably lie down and rest for a bit."

Sam ignored her and turned back to the bed, "It should be here. Dan said it was right here. What am I missing?"

Jazz sighed and just watched. Sam obviously wasn't budging. Maybe she could sneak out and get Mrs. Manson while Sam was still distracted. That might bring some sense back into her. While Jazz was contemplating slipping away for a second to call for Mrs. Manson, Sam took the little violet hairclip back into her hand, not breaking her gaze away from the mattress. She scanned it for a second before turning her attention to the headboard and footboard. Just as Jazz was about to tiptoe her way out, she noticed Sam kneeling before the footboard, staring hard at the carving of a flower decorating the footboard. Sam looked at the violet in her hand before staring back at the carving. She then placed the violet directly onto the carving where she found that it fit quite perfectly. She gave it a little push until it was nice and snug inside. Once the violet had been correctly placed, there was a _click._ Jazz stared in bewilderment while Sam smiled.

"It worked!" Sam shouted, excited.

"It worked?" Jazz asked, astonished.

She knelt down besides Sam and watched as the carving slowly turned clockwise with the violet still in place. When it had made a complete rotation, the carving stuck out as if it were being pushed. Sam excitedly took the carving and pulled it off, revealing a hidden compartment with yet another note.

 _Take a good, hard look at your portrait. When you see what I want you to see, bring my favorite treat over to that spot. Dan._

"His favorite treat?" Sam asked, looking confused, "How are we supposed to know that?"

"I'm still trying to figure out how you knew we were supposed to look at the bed," Jazz said.

Sam started to blush, "I- He- I mean- A hunch, I guess?"

Jazz wasn't convinced. Sam was definitely hiding something, but she wasn't going to try and drag it out of her. For one, Sam would refuse to say anything. And two, she really wanted to know what sort of treasure Dan had in mind at the end of this hunt.

"So," Jazz asked, "You got any 'hunches' about what portrait he's talking about?"

"Maybe," Sam answered, softly while staring at the hairclip, "But, I still don't- Oh, nevermind. Let's just go. I think Mother put it up in the attic."

"What, the portrait? You think the portrait's in the attic?"

Sam nodded as she placed the carving back where it belonged and took back the hairclip. Jazz stared at the hairclip, still wondering where it had come from. She couldn't wonder for long though, Sam was starting to look at her funny. Jazz looked back up and started to stand. Sam lead the way out of the room and up the stairs where Jack and Jeremy continued on with their shouting. Jazz couldn't help but roll her eyes. She was just going to go on ahead and ignore them when something came flying towards them and hit Sam in the back of the head.

"OW!"

She winced and stumbled a little as the thing flew up into the air and headed for her again.

"OW! Hey!"

It was about to go for her a third time when Jazz snatched it out of the air.

"DAD!"

Jack poked his head from around the corner and noticed Jazz holding his contraption.

"Aha!" he shouted as he ran up to grab it, "I was wondering where the Booo-mering flew off to. Did it find the ghost?"

But before Jazz could angrily reply, Jeremy did it for her.

"There is no stupid ghost here, you moron! Quit messing up my establishment!"

"Don't listen to him, Jazzy-pants," he whispered, as if trying to make sure Jeremy couldn't hear, "He's still being controlled by that evil ghost, but don't you worry. I'll get him back to his senses!"

"How?" Jazz sighed, too weary to argue back while Sam just stared both in confusion and amusement.

"That's what the Booo-mering's for! Once I throw it, it'll lock onto the ghost's ecto-signature inside Jeremy. Then it'll bash him repeatedly in the head until the ghost is forced to come out! And once he does, then I'll have him!"

"Wow," she mumbled, sarcastically as Sam smiled and snorted in amusement, "Great plan."

"I know, right?"

"What are you doing, you stupid buffoon? What sort of mischief are you causing now?"

Jeremy turned the corner just in time to see Jack raise his hand up high while still holding the Booo-mering.

"Prepare to be beaten senseless, ghost-scum!"

"WHAT?!"

Sam thought this would be a swell time to leave and quickly started further down the hall with Jazz right behind her. She found the little cord attached to the hatch leading up to the attic and pulled. The hatch opened and a set of wooden steps unraveled before them. They climbed up the steps and entered the dimly lit room. Boxes upon boxes all stuffed to the brim with junk were all piled up upon another. Dusty and rickety old shelves filled with all sorts of crap were crammed in whatever spot they could fit. Torn and stained furniture were strewn this way and that. Curtain rods, moldy bedsheets and clothes, yellowed newspapers, frayed braided rugs, and god knows what other sorts of shit were all littered about from the floor all the way to the ceiling beams. And of course, an attic wouldn't be an attic unless it had mold, mildew, at least three layers of dust, and several cobwebs complete with dead insects in every corner. Jazz made a disgusted face as the smell of the mildew and mold hit her nostrils.

"Yech," she said, sticking her tongue out, "This place could really use a good hose down."

Sam didn't take any offence. Mainly because she hadn't heard her. While Jazz was focused on the dust and the cobwebs, Sam had made a beeline towards one of the junk piles and began going through it, carelessly tossing about the items she had no interest in.

"Come on, come on," she muttered, "It's here somewhere. It's not that hard to miss."

While she was occupied with that task, Jazz shifted her attention to the old, yellowed newspapers on the floor. Now, Jazz actually did like reading old, forgotten papers. It gave her an insight not only into the world of the past, but to the daily lives of the ordinary folks around town. Just imagine for a moment sitting at the table with your breakfast right before school as your father silently read the paper with news of who had been killed last night thanks to this tragic second world war. Oh, how your mother would always sigh sadly every day whenever she passed that picture in of your older brother. Dear brother, please never have father read your name in the paper! Or discussing with your friends over tea about what you yourself had read in the paper about this latest trend of girls wearing knee length dresses these days. What a scandal! That would have never happened back when you were a girl!

Yes, this is what Jazz would like to do when she read the papers of the past. And she was starting to think up of an everyday scenario that might ignite the discussion of these particular papers on the floor when she noticed something rather odd. Now, the papers themselves weren't odd. It was the headline on one particular paper that had caught her attention.

 _Mayor's son drowns in accident._

What the-? The mayor's son? Dan? Dan Masters? It couldn't be. Maybe it was another mayor. She checked the date of the paper. February 1874. Didn't Sam say that Dan Masters was here in 1873? She picked up the paper and started to read a little further.

 _Mayor Vlad Masters' son Daniel Masters was found in a frozen pond near the Manson Inn on the morning of February 17th, 1874 at approximately 7 o'clock by a maid. Police believe he had been on the other side of the frozen pond for unkown reasons and was trying to walk across the ice back to the inn, but the ice broke and he drowned. His death has been ruled as accidental. The mayor had been reached for comment, but he has yet to respond._

"Oh my god," she gasped, "The poor guy. I wonder what he was doing?"

"Found it! I knew it was here somewhere!"

Jazz turned and gasped in astonishment. Sam was holding up a beautiful oil painting of herself sitting in a purple and black gown with her hair down upon her shoulders. She was smiling and the painter must have seen the smile in her eyes too and made sure to include it in his art. And he did so rather perfectly, Jazz had thought. She almost hadn't noticed that the Sam in the portrait was holding something. When she did notice, she looked a little confused.

"Wait, what are you-? Where did that-? Why-?"

While she was stammering out unfinished questions, she never once took her eyes away from the portrait and the violet hairclip sitting in the smiling Sam's hand.


	10. Chapter 10

Jazz had since stopped askin Sam about the flower hairclip in the painting, much to Sam's relief. However, this only made her move on to the next question: How could Sam possibly think Dan was referring to _her_ portrait?

"I mean," Jazz continued, "Come on, let's be logical here. Dan obviously wrote these notes over a hundered and fifty years ago. There's no way he's talking about your portrait. You weren't even born yet."

Where on earth Jazz kept coming up with this theory that Dan's notes were over a hundred and fifty years old, Sam had no idea. Obviously, her father's crazy ghost hunting techniques was having some sort of negative effect on her math skills. Sam didn't exactly consider her own math skills to be perfect, but she damn well knew Jazz was WAY off. Whatever. That didn't really matter right now.

"I KNOW he's talking to me," Sam insisted as she studied her portrait, "I can't explain why, because honestly, I don't really understand why myself. But I just know his notes are for me."

"How can that be possible? He died years ago."

"What?!" Startled, Sam suddenly turned towards Jazz, "He died? What do you mean he died?"

Jazz handed her the newspaper she was holding. Sam read the headline with wide eyes.

 _Mayor's son drown in accident._

As she read the article, a sudden, unexplained wave of sadness and dread hit her. A deep pit formed inside her stomach and she felt as if she couldn't breathe. The paper seemed to weigh heavier and heavier with every passing second.

Dan's dead? He drowned? Dear god, when did that happen? How could that happen? Why didn't anyone tell her this before? To try and spare her feelings? Well, it didn't work! Dear god, how could he be dead! How could he just leave her like that?! Wait, leave her? The hell was she talking about? She didn't even know the poor guy. How could she say he left her? The hell is going on here? Her head must be playing tricks with her. It must be from his treasure hunt. She was so caught up in his treasure hunt game, she was starting to convince herself that she actually knew Dan personally. And now that she's found out he's dead, she can't help but grieve for him. That must be what's going on. It's all in her head. Wait, he can't possibly be dead! She just saw him only hours before! Wait, no she didn't. Not technically. She passed out and he appeared in her dream. But it couldn't have been a dream. He gave her that hairclip. He was definitely there! So, why was this paper saying he died? What the hell was going on here?

"Sam? You okay?"

Sam finally looked up from the newspaper and noticed Jazz staring at her in both confusion and concern. Obviously, Sam had been expressing her thoughts through her facial expressions, otherwise Jazz wouldn't be staring at her like that.

"Yeah," Sam answered, her voice cracking slightly, "Yeah, I'm fine."

A tear fell and splashed onto the paper, alerting Sam that she had been crying a little bit. Feeling a little embarrassed that she was crying over someone she didn't even know, Sam tossed the paper down to the floor and went back to studying her portrait. She attempted, though not successfully, to hide her sniffles as she examined the background of the painting. Now, most people remember where they had been sitting when they're portrait was being painted, but for some odd reason, Sam couldn't. She remembered her mother informing her that someone would be around to paint her portrait. She remembered the fight she and mother had concerning what outfit she would be wearing in the painting. She remembered winning the fight, only to have Mother retaliate by assigning the majority of the chores over to Sam. But for some reason, Sam just could not remember where she had been sitting while she was being painted. It wasn't like Sam had herself painted over a thousand times. She only had about two or three other portraits of herself and those were painted back when she was a child. So, why in the world couldn't she remember where this one was taken?

As Sam continued to stare at the portrait, she started recognizing the small little details painted in the background. The wall behind her looked a bit like wood. And there was another wooden wall not far from her, only this one seemed to be decorated with rope and leather bridles. And there was straw everywhere! There was straw in the tiny, practically invisible loft just above her head. There was straw just a few centimeters away from her elbow. In fact, she was sitting in straw!

"The barn!" she shouted, excitedly, making Jazz jump, "His next clue's at the barn!"

"But there's no way Dan was talking about y-" One look from Sam made Jazz stop for a second, but then she went on to the next point, "Even if he was talking about you, we don't know what he wants us to bring. He didn't give us a hint about what his favorite treat is."

Sam frowned. She had to admit, Jazz did have a point there. She had no idea how they were going to figure out what he liked. And if Dan hadn't written it down somewhere, then he obviously wasn't about to tell them what with him being dead. Maybe since Dan was writing to her, he probably assumed she already knew what his favorite treat was. Why he would assume that, Sam would never know. Then again, Sam didn't know why Dan was even writing to her in the first place. After all, they've never even met. The moment Sam thought that, she knew right away that it was a lie. No. They did meet. They knew each other. She wasn't going to ignore that nagging little voice anymore. She and Dan did know each other! So she had to have known what his favorite treat was. Right? So, why couldn't she remember?

"Come on," she muttered, "Think, Sam, think. What did he like?"

Suddenly, she felt something blow against her like a powerful burst of wind. It knocked her down onto her rear and went right through her. As it went through, Sam suddenly saw herself taking a few steps into the barn and look around as if she were searching for something. She took a few steps more inside and continued looking until she spotted someone near one of the stalls, gently stroking the muzzle of a black mare. She stopped and smiled. She found him. Dan was wearing a black winter coat and gloves. The harsh wind blowing against his face had turned his cheeks red. He was shivering slightly, and as soon as Sam noticed this, she couldn't help but feel a bit guilty for making him wait. Hopefully, he hadn't waited too long.

As she walked towards him, Dan noticed that he was no longer alone and turned his head towards the sound of Sam's footsteps. Seeing that it was her, he smiled and waited until she reached him. When she did, he wrapped his arms around her, much to her surprise, and held her close against him. Sam found herself embracing him back and they both silently enjoyed their hug. After about a moment, they both let go of each other, much to Sam's disappointment. She felt something heavy by her side and realized that she was holding a knapsack. Dan noticed the knapsack too and looked at Sam rather eagerly as if he thought it were intended for him. Even Sam started to think the sack was for him. Why, she couldn't say. And she wasn't going to figure it out just by standing there. She put down the sack and went digging inside. There was only one item inside. She felt her hands grab at something cylindrical and heavy and started pulling it out. Then without even thinking about it, Sam handed it to Dan. That's when she finally saw what she had been carrying. A large jar of canned

"Cherries!" Sam exclaimed, "His favorite treat is cherries!"

As soon as Sam finished shouting, she realized she was no longer in the barn. She was sitting on the dirty floor in the middle of the attic with Jazz staring at her as if she had lost her mind. Considering all of the insanity going on today, maybe she had. Oh, whatever. She didn't care. She quickly got back up to her feet and started heading out of the attic.

"Come on! Mother's got some canned cherries in the pantry!"

"You mean the same cherries you couldn't find this morning?"

Sam stopped. Dammit. That was right. They weren't there anymore. But they had to be. She and Mother just canned them only a month ago! Then why couldn't she find them? Why was she even looking for them in the first place? Ugh, god her head was starting to hurt.

Jazz must have mistaken Sam's pained expression for huge disappointment for she quickly tried to backtrack.

"Wait, wait," she said, trying to resassure Sam, "I'm sure there's some cherries around here somewhere. Maybe they're in the kitchen?"

Sam highly doubted it, but didn't have any other ideas. So, she and Jazz went down into the kitchen and started looking through the cupboards. After about fifteen minutes of searching, Sam was just about ready to give up when Jazz finally called out.

"Found them!"

Sam looked and saw Jazz standing in front of the open door of the large, metal icebox, waving a plastic bag filled with cherries. They weren't the canned cherries that Dan liked, but they would have to do.

"Alright then," Sam answered, looking for her winter wrap, "Let's head back to the barn."

The girls bundled themselves up once more and headed back out into the snow. When they approached the burnt rubble where the barn had once stood, Sam started to panic for a moment before remembering that she had already saw this a few hours ago. It was still nerve-wracking just looking at it. Hopefully, those poor horses were alright. God, Mother was going to have an absolute fit when she sees this.

They entered the barn, or should we say what was left of the barn. Sam looked at her little favorite hiding spot. The same exact spot where she was sitting in her painting. This must be where she was supposed to put the cherries. She took the bag from Jazz and kneeled down into her corner. The moment she touched her spot, she immediately felt a burning pain singe throughout her body.

"Sam?" Jazz asked, worriedly.

The air suddenly felt heavy and thick with smoke. Sam couldn't breathe. She sputtered and coughed, trying to get a breath of fresh air.

"Sam!"

She let go of the bag of cherries and continued choking, her vision growing darker by the second. As soon as Jazz started pulling her away, Sam passed out.

When Sam opened her eyes again, she frantically looked around. She saw that she was sitting back in her hiding spot on top of a small pile of hay that hadn't been there before. The barn was still standing, as perfect as it was before. Everything was unscorched, the ashe and debris were all gone, and the air smelt like hay and manure again.

"What the-?"

"Surprised?"

The voice next to her made Sam jump. Sitting right next to her was Dan, smiling in amusement at her shock.

"What the-? Where'd you come from? Where's Jazz? Jazz was just here!"

"She's still around," he shrugged, "But I'm not still here for her."

"Still here?" she looked at him in confusion for a moment before remembering the newspaper article, "You're still here! You died, but you're still here!"

"Exactly!" he grasped her hand and looked at her in excitement, "You're remembering now, aren't you?"

"Remember? Remember what?"

His face fell. Sam saw the hurt in his eyes and felt ashamed of herself. Her cheeks turned red and she quickly looked down as if he had just scolded her like a naughty child. Dan put his hand under her chin and gently lifted her head up to look at him. The sad smile on his face only made Sam feel even more ashamed.

How could he possibly have that much power over her? Even her own Mother couldn't make Sam feel guilty. Yet, with only just a small, sad smile, she sat before him red as those cherries Dan loved and cursing herself for disappointing him so badly. How did he do that?

"I guess I'll just have to be a bit more patient for just a little longer," Dan said, snapping Sam out of her thoughts, "I've already waited over a hundred and fifty years. I can wait a little longer."

"A hundred and fifty years?" Sam stared at him, "What? That's not possible. The paper said you died only-"

"Nevermind that. Just focus on your next clue. Maybe that will stir up your memory."

"My next clue?" Sam quickly kneeled at where she had been sitting and started digging through the hay, "Where is it? Where'd you put it?"

Dan took her hand again, "Let me save you the trouble and tell you that Father got to it first and replaced it with another warning to stay away from me."

"He did? Why? What's he got against me?"

"The same thing he has against every other woman in your class. You're at the lower end of the hierarchy than I am."

"What?" Sam shouted, angrily, "That's it? Because he doesn't think I'm rich enough? Why, that shallow-!"

"Nevermind what he thinks. Focus on your next clue. You'll find it in your room. Hurry and find it so that I don't have to wait for you anymore."

"Wait for me? What do you-?"

But before she could finish her sentence, Dan had already pressed his lips against hers. She was taken aback for a second, but quickly settled into his arms wrapped around her and let him kiss her. She closed her eyes and pressed her lips back at his, savoring his taste. God, this felt so good. His touch against her, felt nice and warm. And his kiss. God, that kiss. It just made her skin tingle with excitement, wanting more. Needing more.

She opened her eyes with a huge smile. Instantly, she was confused. She was no longer at her corner in the barn. Or even in the barn. She was back in the lobby, lying on the couch with Jazz fanning her with a magazine.

"Sam!" she exclaimed, putting the magazine down with the others on the small table, "Are you okay? What happened back there?"

That's exactly what Sam was still trying to figure out. What had happened? How'd she get here?

"Sam?"

"I'm-I'm fine."

She sat up with her hand to her temple. For the thousandth time that day, she wondered what the hell was going on.

"How long have I been out?" she asked.

"About twenty minutes. That's the second time you've fainted today and at the barn. I don't think you should go back there."

"I have too. I've got chores I need to do there."

"What chores? It's burned down. There aren't any chores left to do. Besides you keep fainting every time we go there. I think you're having some sort of allergic reaction over there something."

"Allergic reaction?" Sam looked at her, warily, "Don't you think you're being a bit dramatic?"

Jazz argued something back, but Sam didn't hear. She suddenly realized that there was something in her pocket. Odd. She didn't remember putting anything in her pocket. So what was she carrying. She stuck her hand inside and felt something small. She pulled it out and stared at it. It was a small, silver key with a purple ribbon tied on one end. Jazz noticed the key too and stopped.

"Where'd you get that?" she asked.

Sam thought back to her kiss. The thought of his touch, his warmth, his passion, they all made her smile. She tied the key round her neck and wore it as a necklace. She stroked the key with her thumb and smiled.

"Dan," she finally answered, "Dan gave it to me."


End file.
